[Third Person]
Three Years Ago, Ottawa, Canada.
It had just snowed and the white fog clothed the trees and landscape. Jeff sat in his dimly lit study, the scent of old leather mingled with the faint aroma of the whiskey in his glass. He swirled the amber liquid thoughtfully, his mind already racing with the possible information the upcoming conversation might reveal. A sharp knock on the door broke his reverie, and he straightened, setting the glass aside.
"Come in," he called, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet room.
The door opened, and a man in his early forties entered holding a thick folder tucked under his arm. This was Marcus, Jeff’s trusted investigator. Marcus looked professional with his neatly combed hair and his proper behavior.
"Good evening, Mr. Jeff," Marcus greete
