CHAPTER 90 - SAN JERÓNIMO ISN’T A STREET—IT’S A TRAP.

The green light didn’t mean go. It meant: run, but make it look like nothing’s happening.

The DA’s vehicle moved first, boxes inside like they were hauling bread. We followed in the taxi, Ramírez in stone mode, Marco in human-radar mode.

And the gray van… did too.

Too close.

Too synchronized.

I...

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