The first video arrived at 12:37 a.m.
Iván showed it to Ernesto without speaking. On the screen, Valentina’s yacht, Valentina’s Light, glimmered on the water like an insult. Champagne bottles covered the tables. Music blasted. People danced as if no woman was fighting for her life ten minutes away.
Mauricio Serrano stood in the middle of it all.
He wore a light jacket, an open shirt, and the smile of a man who believed he was free. Beside him, a dark-haired woman in a red dress touched his chest with the confidence of someone who thought she had already won.
Mauricio raised his glass.
“To new beginnings,” he said, the long-range microphone catching every word. “And to freedom.”
The guests cheered.
The woman kissed him.
Ernesto did not blink.
“Who is she?”
