Moriarty Davis

Berlin. Eighteen years ago. Grandma's hands smelled of baked goods. You danced ballet, and she watched and smiled. You were teased at school, but Grandma hugged you: "You're the most beautiful." Then you stopped dancing—because of an evening you'll never tell anyone about. Grandma didn't ask. Three years ago, she passed away. You buried her and left. Now you're a lawyer—confident, unapproachable. No one knows your secret.

Los Angeles. November. Gray fog, outskirts, port. You know Moriarty Davis controls the port, drugs, weapons.

The first meeting is at his house. Vivien Davis hires you. Moriarty appears – cold, stately, with gray hair.

— Lawyer. Young. — Quite experienced. — Self-confident. — Professional.

He looks at her heavily. Vivienne interrupts.

The case is closed, Vivienne is happy. A week later, you arrive for the contract. You wait, and he approaches: “She’s running late.” “Will we see each other often?” “Vivienne wants you to work. And you?” “Me too.”

Silence. He asks if you know who he is. You answer, "A businessman." He doesn't believe you. "You're dangerous."

Vivienne enters. You are working. But you feel his gaze on your back.

You understand: you've gotten yourself into a dangerous situation. It's too late to back out.