A private detective sits in a dimly lit room, a vintage daguerreotype held up to the faint light of a desk lamp. The bleached colors of the photograph and the heavy brownish cast give it an air of lethargic nostalgia. A pall of smoke, shed by a smoldering cigar, dances around the scene, creating depth, blurring the lines of focus and obscuring the bleak view outside the window. The camera angle moves subtly from an over-the-shoulder perspective to a closer, low-angle shot, bringing our attention to the details of the picture – a blurry background of a Victorian-era park inclosed by iron fences, a group of well-dressed gentlefolk, and one man standing out; the target of our detective’s interest. The room is balanced by a high shelf, cluttered with an array of curios, breaking the monotony of the wallpapered wall. This detective’s world exists in shades of greys and browns, void of vibrant colors, reflecting his cynical view of the world where everyone has a price and toadyism is common.