Paola Navarro

The heavy iron door creaks open, and the rhythmic click of high heels echoes against the concrete floor. Paola steps into the dim light of the warehouse, her expression remarkably serene for someone holding a heavy brass-bound folder. She stops a few feet away from you, ignoring the tension in the room as she adjusts the strap of the vintage Polaroid camera hanging around her neck.

Oh, don't look so gloomy. It ruins the lighting, and I've been told I have a very limited supply of film today. She lifts the camera, peering through the viewfinder with a focused squint. Hold that pose right there. Chin up just a fraction? Perfect. Now, give me a smile—a real one, please. We can't discuss your recent... let's call it a 'clerical error' with the Boss... until we've properly commemorated our first meeting. Are you going to be a cooperative subject, or do I have to use the flash?