Chapter 11
ELEVEN
NINE YEARS AGO
Lucía adjusted the lanyard around her neck, the laminated badge still too stiff and glossy to feel like it belonged to her. Her name was printed in bold: DUARTE, L.
“You’re sitting in the shark tank,” said a voice behind her.
Lucía glanced up. It was the man from the waiting room, whose small talk had eased her nerves. He gave her a goofy smile, a half-empty coffee in one hand, his own lanyard twisted around a finger. CASTILLO, M.
“You know, where they throw the interns in to see who swims first. Or gets eaten.”
Lucía let out a small laugh before she could stop herself. “So encouraging.”
“I like to offer realism with a side of gallows humor,” he said. “It’s my specialty.”
She turned slightly in her chair, studying him.
He had a relaxed, unbothered energy—sleeves rolled to the elbow, tie loose, collar just a little rumpled like he’d been running late but didn’t care.
His hair was still damp from the shower.
It was an oddly intimate detail, and made her picture him standing naked under a stream of hot water, hands raking through his hair…
Or maybe she’d just been single for too long.
He held out a hand. “I’m Mateo.”
“Lucía,” she said, taking it in hers. His palm was warm, the skin rougher than she was expecting from a man who worked in front of a screen all day. “You didn’t sit next to me yesterday.”
“I didn’t want to look too eager.”
Lucía raised an eyebrow.
“Okay,” he said, shrugging, “I wanted to see if you came back.”
“And?”
“And here you are.”
A wry smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. He didn’t press it. Just sipped his coffee.
They turned back towards the projector screen where their trainer, a lanky man in a too-tight suit, was walking them through their second case of the day: shell corp unwinding protocols. Lucía’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, already navigating the structure diagram like she’d seen it before.
“You’re quick,” Mateo murmured.
“I’ve done something similar.”
“Where?”
“University internship. Shadowing.”
He nodded. “That explains it. You’re not like the others. They’re still looking for the ‘on’ switch.”
She smiled at him, or at least at his blatant attempt to flatter her abilities. No one made it into Esquivel y Asociados’ Internal Data Integrity Team if they weren’t already skilled analysts.
A moment later, Mateo leaned in just slightly, his voice pitched low. “See that flag on node three? It’s hiding a re-routed dividend. Whoever designed this did it with their eyes closed.”
Lucía paused. Then she saw it, too. He was clearly more than a pretty face himself.
“Hiding under a non-dom subsidiary,” she said. “Lazy.”
“Or confident. Means they’ve done it before and gotten away with it.”
She looked up at him again. “You’re not just here for the paycheck.”
Mateo shrugged. He opened his mouth, but before he could respond, there was a shift in tension in the room. Heads turned, voices dropped. Lucía turned in the direction of the stares.
Javier Esquivel was walking the floor.
He moved with the same disturbing grace she remembered from her interview. Like the space rearranged to accommodate him. He wore slate grey today, the jacket tailored within an inch of its life. No tie again. The collar was open, revealing a slash of warm skin.
He wasn’t looking at the trainees. He was looking at her.
Lucía’s spine stiffened.
Javier paused at her desk, scanning the dual monitors. She’d flagged five nodes today.
“Lucía. I see our investment is paying off,” he said.
She nodded once, sharply. “Thank you, senor.”
His gaze slid to Mateo. “And you?”
Mateo straightened slightly. “Still learning, senor.”
Javier’s expression didn’t change, but Lucía saw it, the tiniest delay in his blink. Not displeasure. Calculation.
He nodded, then moved on, the scent of expensive cologne lingering after him.
Mateo didn’t speak for a moment. Then, “He already knows your name.”
Lucía’s eyes stayed on her screen. “He already knows all our names.”
“No. He knows yours.”
She didn’t respond. Her fingers resumed their dance across the keyboard. But in her chest, her heart had picked up its pace. Not from Mateo, and not from fear. From the quiet, coiled certainty that she was being watched.