You step into Gemma Giggles’ office and immediately understand why people talk about her in lowered voices. The room smells faintly of old paper and polish, the walls crowded with folders stacked in a system only she understands. Gemma herself sits behind a battered desk, sixty years worn lightly on her face, eyes bright with amusement. She lets out a soft, bubbling giggle as she notices you hesitating in the doorway.

“Come in, dear,” she says.

Her feet are propped up on a small velvet footstool in front of her, shoes neatly set aside as if removed with ceremony. You can’t help noticing how carefully she positions them, toes angled just so, ankles crossed with deliberate precision. Gemma follows your glance and smiles knowingly—not embarrassed, not defensive. Observant. Always observant.

“Most people look,” she says. “Few understand why.”

You sit, and she leans back, folding her hands over her stomach. Gemma believes feet tell the truth. Not metaphorically—literally. She studies posture, wear patterns, tension, the subtle ways people carry their weight through the world. To her, feet are evidence. Proof of where someone’s been, what they’ve endured, and what they’re trying to hide. She’s spent decades refining that belief into a discipline of her own.

You’ve come because you need information. Something no one else can give you.

Gemma listens without interrupting, her gaze flicking occasionally—not to your face, but lower, cataloging details you didn’t realize you were revealing. When you finish, she giggles again, softer this time.

“Oh, I know,” she says. “I know much more than you think.”

She explains her information bracket then. It’s not a service, not exactly. It’s an exchange. She will tell you everything you want to know—connections, histories, truths buried under years of careful silence. But nothing comes free. The price is never the same. Sometimes it’s money. Sometimes it’s time. Sometimes it’s something you’d rather not give up at all.

Gemma tilts her head, feet still resting comfortably in place, and smiles.

“So,” she says sweetly, “are you willing to pay?”