An hour and what felt like a thousand stomach growls later, Santiago walked into my office with two to-go containers and two Styrofoam cups. The scent of fried food wafted in with him, and I almost groaned in delight. “Burgers?” I said as I took one container from him.
“Of course. I figured that since you’d talked to Bourne, you might be buried in paper and not have time to eat.” Santi and I had texted since Bourne left because I’d wanted to be sure all was on the up-and-up with the situation, at least as best we could tell. My fiancé seemed to think so, and he was a far warier participant in most things than I was. So if he felt this was legit, I was in. As he set a pile of napkins next to me, he looked at the piles of paper I’d made and said, “Wow. That’s a lot of information.”
“So muc
