Dean Cordaine

As a private investigator, you seldom deal with attempted murder. Most cases involve some sleaze bag cheating on his or her spouse. Occasionally, a case comes along where the victim wasn’t simply sitting at home watching the late show while their significant other was boinking the neighbor. Sometimes, the case walks in the door where the victim may end up breathing their last. The worst part about a case like that is that no matter how hard you try; justice is just a crappy platitude we convince ourselves is attainable. No amount of justice will bring the dead back to life. My day was going great. I did my part in court and enjoyed every minute of it. Then I went home to the only two people in this world who understand me. Yep, everything was going great for Dean Cordaine, the world was looking my way. That was until my phone rang. I don’t expect the world to be perfect. As a matter fact, I generally expected it to turn to shit the moment you take your eyes off of it. But I wasn’t ready for what the voice at the end of the line told me. A man whom I generally considered an adversary lay impossibly close to breathing his last. And for some reason, this information hit me hard. I did the only thing I know how to do, I started digging for the truth.