The truck’s clock read 11:15 PM. He would arrive on time.
The University Hospital parking lot was a gray concrete maze, illuminated by fluorescent lights that flickered with an electrical hum that had always bothered Joaquín because it was a sign of a failing ballast. Now, that hum was his only company.
Level 3, Zone C.
It was almost empty, except for a few cars of doctors on duty and family members who were sleeping in their vehicles.
Joaquín saw a gray Nissan Versa parked on a dark corner. The lights flickered on briefly as he approached.
The passenger window rolled down.
It was Valeria. Óscar was in the driver’s seat, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white.
—Get in —Valeria said.
Joaquín opened the back door and got in. The air conditioning was on full blast, but the atmosphere felt stifling.
“You look like shit, buddy,” Oscar said, looking at him in the rearview mirror. His eyes were red, as if he had been crying.
“There were problems,” Joaquín said curtly. He pulled the notebooks from his waistband and threw them onto the passenger seat. “There it is. Everything. Five years of fraud, illegal installations, and Maldonado’s signature on the work orders.”
Valeria took one of the notebooks and opened it. She shone her cell phone’s flashlight on the pages.
“My God…” he murmured. “This is pure gold. You have locations of crypto mining farms, labs… Joaquín, this isn’t just money laundering. Maldonado was providing electrical infrastructure for the cartel. That’s why the excessive consumption.”
“Is that enough?” Joaquín asked.
—That’s more than enough for the Financial Intelligence Unit (UIF) to freeze everything and for the Attorney General’s Office to intervene. It’s no longer a state crime. It’s federal. Organized crime.
“Then let’s go,” said Oscar, putting his hand on the gearshift. “I have a contact at the prosecutor’s office in Mexico City. We’re leaving right now on the highway.”
Joaquín felt a momentary relief. It was over. They were going to flee, hand over the evidence, and…
Suddenly, Oscar’s cell phone rang. It was connected to the car’s Bluetooth.
The name on the screen froze the blood of all three of them: *ENG. MALDONADO*.
Oscar stared at his phone in terror.
“I… I blocked him. How is he calling?”
“Answer me,” Valeria ordered, taking a voice recorder out of her bag. “Put it on speakerphone.”
Oscar trembled, but pressed the green button.
-Well?
“Good evening, Óscar,” Roberto Maldonado’s voice sounded calm, almost paternal. That same voice that had comforted Joaquín at the funeral. “I know you’re with Joaquín. And I know you have Miss Cruz with you.”
Nobody spoke. The silence in the car was absolute.
“Don’t bother trying to start the car,” Maldonado continued. “We’ve blocked the parking lot exits. And Óscar… I know you’re a good man. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to your wife, would you? Laura’s on her night shift at the clinic, right?”
Oscar let out a muffled groan.
“What do you want?” Joaquín interjected, leaning forward.
—Ah, Joaquín. Today’s hero. I hear you’re a good shot. Kevin’s in intensive care. What a shame, he was a good kid.
—Stop playing games. I have the logs. I have everything.
—I know. And that’s why we’re going to make a deal. You get out of the car with those notebooks. You walk toward the ramp. You hand them to me. And I’ll let your friends go. And I’ll forget about you and your daughter. I’ll give you a plane ticket and money so you can disappear.
“He’s lying,” Valeria whispered. “If you give him the notebooks, he’ll kill us all.”
“You have two minutes,” Maldonado said. “Or my associates will go into the clinic and get Laura. And then we’ll go to the Hotel Regis, room 304. Yes, Joaquín. We know where Camila is. The taxi driver who brought you here is a cousin of one of my guys.”
The call was cut off.
Joaquín felt like the world was crashing down on him. They knew where Camila was. The hotel. The chair by the door. His little girl all alone.
“It’s a trap,” Valeria said, cocking a small pistol she pulled from her anklet. “Joaquín, you can’t go.”
“I have to go,” Joaquín said. His voice was no longer trembling. He had crossed the threshold of fear. “If I don’t go, they’ll come for her.”
“If you go, they’ll kill you and then come after her,” Valeria replied. “We need a plan. Oscar, is your car fully insured?”
—What? Yes, but…
“Joaquín,” Valeria turned to him. “You’re the electrician. This parking lot… where are the transformers?”
Joaquín looked out the window. He analyzed the structure. He saw the junction boxes. He saw the conduit pipes.
“The main substation is in the basement, but each floor has a main distribution panel. The one on this level is behind that column, in the maintenance cage.”
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