Chapter 2 - The Audit of BloodThe digital dashboard glowed softly in the dim light of Daniel’s makeshift command center on the kitchen table. For the past six hours, fueled by black coffee and a terrifying, razor-sharp focus, he had torn through bank statements, digital receipts, and public crowdfunding links that Leonel had set up.
The numbers didn’t just lie; they screamed.
Out of the nearly one million pesos donated by strangers touched by Camila’s story, less than five percent had ever reached the hospital cashier’s desk. The rest had vanished into a complex web of shell accounts, cryptocurrency wallets, and direct wire transfers.
A transfer of 150,000 pesos to “Automotriz del Norte”—the exact down payment for Leonel’s brand-new luxury pickup truck. Another transfer of 80,000 pesos to a boutique luxury travel agency in Cancún, booked under Irene’s name for a trip scheduled two weeks after Camila’s funeral.
Daniel stared at the monitor, his reflection looking back at him like a stranger—eyes hollow, jaw locked, skin pale.
His phone buzzed on the table. It was a text message from Irene:
“Dani, sweetie? Are you holding up okay? Leonel and I are heading over to your place with some leftover pozole. You haven’t eaten in two days, and you need family around you right now. Don’t lock the door, we have our keys.”
Daniel looked at the clock. 3:14 AM.
Family. The word tasted like copper and ash in his mouth.
He didn’t reply. Instead, he stood up, walked to his toolbox by the back door, and pulled out a heavy steel pipe wrench. He tested its weight in his hand, feeling the cold, oiled metal. Then, he sat back down at the kitchen table, pushed the laptop screen down halfway so it cast a dim glow, and waited for the sound of the front door unlocking.
May you like
Click.
The key turned in the deadbolt.
