At dawn, she slipped the photo into her bag and boarded the discreet bus that Baste used for his secret journeys.
The driver, a slim man with a scar on his cheek, nodded wordlessly and turned into a narrow street.
They stopped in front of an unassuming brick building with boarded-up windows and a rusty sign hanging crookedly that read “Mendoza Charity Center.”
Inside, the smell of incense and old paper wafted through the air.
Clara’s footsteps echoed as she followed the faint buzzing sound toward the back room.
There, engineers monitored banks of screens displaying diagrams of factories, illegal gambling operations, and corrupt officials.
In the center, on an elegant table, lay a stack of envelopes, each marked with a name she recognized: “Mayor Ramos,” “Luz Corp,” “The Gómez Family.”
He picked up the envelope and a photo fell out: Baste, slim, with proud eyes, standing next to a group of workers, his arms raised in triumph.
She felt a lump in her throat.
“You fed people when they thought you were a monster,” a voice behind him muttered.
He turned and saw a woman in a simple black dress, her face partially hidden in shadow.
“I’m Ana, I manage a secret fund,” the woman said, sliding a briefcase across the table.
Financial documents found inside revealed how the criminal organization siphoned millions of dollars from secret game locations, while Baste’s secret accounts funneled the same amount into social projects.
Clara felt the weight of each sleepless night lift from her.
“Your father’s debt… was made up,” Ana confirmed, piercing him with her gaze.
“We’ve been waiting for someone who can see through skin,” he added, pointing to a synthetic suit displayed in a glass case.
Clara’s fingers touched the cold surface, feeling the faint pulsation of hidden circuits.
“You have to finish this job,” Ana said, handing her a small flash drive.
“The union leader will meet us tonight at the old pier,” he whispered.
Clara nodded, the determination in her chest solidifying like steel.
The final showdown
