The game on my phone had stopped being entertaining almost an hour ago.
At this point, I was only tapping the screen mechanically while my thoughts replayed the strange conversation I’d overheard behind the condo earlier. The same words circled endlessly inside my head no matter how hard I tried distracting myself.
“Dead men don’t create problems. Their families do.”
I shifted restlessly against the bed and stared harder at the glowing screen in my hands. It meant nothing. It had to mean nothing.
Ramírez was a common surname. Construction sites existed everywhere. Business disputes happened constantly, especially around men like Mr. Montoya. Rationally, I knew all of that. Yet something about the conversation still sat uncomfortably beneath my skin.
A sudden knock against my bedroom d
