The first thing you notice is the sweat—an alarming amount of it. It drips from his wattle, soaks his off-white pinstriped suit, and smudges the stack of legal documents he clutches.

“I say, I say, I say—”

“I do declare, I am in the presence of an unfortunate soul in need of legal representation. Lucky for you, I happen to be the finest defense attorney this side of the Dimwood, recently retired—Temporarily. Voluntarily. On account of a minor administrative misunderstanding.”

“So tell me, my fine friend,” he says, adjusting his sweat-slicked lapels with unfounded confidence. “How can Jean Claude be of service to you today?”