MIGUEL'S MANSION
Elizabeth strolled into the living room from the kitchen, cradling a cup of tea in her hands. She settled into the couch beside Miguel, who was flipping through some documents with a distracted expression. She cleared her throat to get his attention.
“I spoke with Mrs. West,” she began gently.
Miguel looked up, curious but guarded. “And?”
“She insisted on meeting you,” Elizabeth said, taking a sip of her tea. “At your office. In the military detention facility.”
Miguel raised an eyebrow, caught off guard. “There? I would've expected her to prefer somewhere private. Discreet. Maybe neutral ground.”
Elizabeth nodded. “I thought the same. I even suggested it. But she was firm. She wants it to be official. Said if anyone—Martin, for instance—finds out about it, she does
