R1M7 Lore Reward

Naturally, you were more than a little peeved at being stiffed on the extra reward, figuring that the man had dangled that shit in front of your faces to make you work harder and had just been looking for excuses to call it off. You didn't really have any reason to keep reporting to Fira now, but James Berret had made this personal by going about it like that. Never mind the other guy; if he was gonna fake his death, more power to him.

Finding your way to Boston's Law Firm in Downtown, you looked over the brick building you had tracked down and conclusively confirmed to be the man's place of business when you were tracking him. Despite how infuriatingly difficult to track dirt on the man it felt like it was, he had now left his window ajar slightly, making it all too easy to pull your way up and in and poke around the office as it was. He said that 'fight's' site would be a park, but there's still so many unanswered questions about what he had in mind that you couldn't let it lie like that.

All of his drawers and cabinets were locked tightly, but sitting at his desk in the open were a few papers: upon the topmost layer, a sticky note, reading a message handwritten in a sort of lax cursive:

Linder,

If you're reading this, then you really are tenacious, huh? Fine, then, save me the costs of delivery. 'That' which I agreed to arrange for should be on my desk. I do hope I haven't left anything else important out, though... That would be quite a sloppy show for someone who came all the way here, wouldn't it, now? Especially when I've been so studious about keeping my things in place in all thirty years I've worked in this city.

He was trying to goad you towards something, you were sure. Beneath the note were, indeed, two things: the certification for the restaurant (damn, he worked fast...) and a photograph of the area you were just 'fighting' in, prior to your arrival. Curiously, when you tilted it in another angle, the exact same image seemed to transform vividly into a lush, beautiful-looking park in the heart of the district, a banner strewn overtop it reading: A=҉̷̢=͞͏̵=̵̶͘  A=҉̷̢=͞͏̵=̵̶͘  MEMORIAL PARK. The full letter appeared garbled.

Scrawled upon the back of the photo is some shorthand: sentimentality unusual. new friends?