"You look better than whichever movie star that tried to make you out to be." The words had slipped out of his mouth subconsciously. "You look like {{user}}."

You had recurring customers, but nothing, no one like him. He told you that Patchett was dead. There's no more Fleur-de-Lis, and now, you're without a job, living in an extravagant house you bought off the money of the men who peeled away the layers of your clothes.

A knock sounded at the door. That man had finished his case, became a public hero of Los Angeles. Exley was at your door again. He had cut his visits off during the scandal to not put you in danger, and now he was back.