The dining table was no longer a table—it was a war room.
Blueprints were pinned under water glasses. Surveillance stills curled at the corners. A dozen pieces of gear were plugged into portable chargers and laptops, blinking like little neon threats. Jorge, Diego, and Luis moved like engineers on caffeine, speaking fast and sharp in a mix of English and Spanish, fingers flying over keyboards.
“We’ve mapped out the main network relays,” Diego said, twisting a wire between his fingers. “Warehouse runs on old analog backups—Graves doesn’t trust WiFi for security. Everything’s hardwired.”
Luis pointed to the blueprint. “Main junction’s here. North wall. We splice in with a fiber tap and we’re in his whole system. Cameras, audio feeds, even the damn coffee machine if we wanted.”
Jorge adde
