Chapter 3 - Shadows on the Screen
Lena stared at the burner phone as if it were a venomous snake. The screen illuminated her gaunt, dirt-streaked face with an eerie blue glow. The message was gone, replaced by a single, unread audio file.
With trembling fingers, she tapped the screen and pressed the phone to her ear.
A heavy, measured breathing filled the speaker, followed by a voice that made her blood freeze solid. It wasn't one of the cartel enforcers she had spent eight months hiding from. It was deeper, smoother, and infinitely more dangerous.
"Dr. Ortiz," the voice murmured, dripping with synthetic politeness. "Or should I say, the ghost of St. Jude's Hospital. It’s remarkably difficult to stay hidden when you leave your fingerprints all over a Michelin-star dining room."
Lena’s breath hitched. She scrambled backward until her spine hit the damp concrete wall. "How..."
"How do I know who you are?" the voice chuckled softly. "My dear, Marco Lombardi owns half the infrastructure in this city, including the biometric traffic grid that caught your dirty sneakers sprinting away from La Serenata. You thought you could run from the syndicate that killed your mentor, only to walk right into the lion's den to play veterinarian."
"Leave me alone," Lena whispered fiercely into the mic. "I don't want any trouble. I didn't see anything."
"Oh, but you saw everything eight months ago, didn't you?" the caller countered, the amusement vanishing instantly, replaced by razor-sharp steel. "Dr. Guzman didn't just treat the wrong person; he left a file behind. A file containing every transaction, every name, and every offshore account linking the cartel to the city's medical board. And we believe it’s sitting right inside that filthy backpack you're clutching to your chest."
Lena looked down at the frayed canvas backpack resting beside her mattress. Inside, tucked beneath layers of stained cloth and empty food wrappers, lay a heavy, encrypted flash drive encased in lead foil—Dr. Guzman’s final gift.
"I don't have it," Lena lied, her voice cracking.
May you like
"You have sixty seconds to decide whether you want to be handed over to Marco Lombardi in pieces, or if you want to make a deal," the voice said. "Meet me at the old dry docks on Pier 44. Bring the drive. Come alone."
Click.
