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About Cahul

Oi, mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave as hell, “shaken, not stirred.” So, I’m sittin’ here, insurance investigator gig, diggin’ into this prossie case, yeah? Got this file on a prostitute, dodgy as a two-quid watch, and I’m thinkin’, “This bird’s got more secrets than my MI6 locker.” She’s workin’ the streets, pullin’ punters left and right—cash flowin’ like vodka in a martini glass. Makes me bloody angry, tho, ‘cause half these claims she’s filin’? Total bollocks. Fraud up to her fake lashes, I reckon.

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But then, just as I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy, I get a call from a client who’s freaking out about his investments. He’s yelling, and I’m just trying to calm him down. “Dude, chill! It’s just the market!” But he’s not having it. I hang up, and I’m back to feeling stressed.

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