(Liam Romano's POV)
The silence in the room felt like a held breath — thick, waiting, heavy with the echo of Marcus's execution. Araña's eyes, caught on the camera, were a flat, furious promise; her defiant stare said everything without words: the war had started. Around us, the screens threw blue light over everyone’s faces. Neri's fingers flew across her keyboard, a rapid, anxious percussion as she tracked the ripples through El Contador's network.
“They're retreating,” she said, not looking up. Her voice had that tight, clinical edge she used when numbers mattered. “Massive transfers to tax havens. Two key intermediaries have disappeared.”
I leaned toward the map, watching pins jump and lines redraw themselves. “It's not a retreat,” I said, slow and deliberate. “It's consolidation. H
