Marco Sy called on a Tuesday morning.
Not on Rafael's number. Not through any channel I recognized. Directly, on my number, from a number I had stored after the early calls and had not deleted.
I was at my desk at Estrella Co. when it came through and I looked at his name on the screen and thought about what it meant that he was calling now, three weeks after Rafael had left Cebu, with no announced reason.
I answered.
"Ms. Cruz," he said. The careful neutral voice. The one I had first heard saying: he simply wanted you to know that he knows.
"Marco," I said.
A pause that had something in it that was different from the professional pauses I had heard from him before. Something slightly less managed.
"I am calling without Mr. Lim's knowledge," he said. "I want to be clear about that."
