Interlude — The Spider

The air conditioning was set to sixty-eight degrees. Perfect.

I sat at the antique writing desk, my laptop open. The glow of the screen was the only light in the room.

On the screen was a spreadsheet. Project San Nicolás - Shadow Ledger.

I took a sip of sparkling water.

I highlighted the column labeled Imported Materials. I moved the decimal point. I allocated the surplus to the numbered account in Zurich.

It was elegant. It was clean.

My phone buzzed on the desk.

Minister Castillo: The permits for the port expansion are ready. But the fee has increased. 15%.

I didn't blink. I typed back: Done. Expedite the paperwork.

I minimized the spreadsheet and opened a different window. Find My iPhone.

Two dots appeared on the map of Santo Domingo.

One dot—Tony’s phone—was stationary at a location tagged La Cueva.

The other dot—Max’s phone—was right next to it.

I zoomed in. La Cueva. A low-end bar in a bad neighborhood.

I leaned back in the chair.

I wasn't jealous. Jealousy was an emotion for people who didn't have contracts. Max wouldn't cheat. He didn't have the nerve. Max was a creature of duty. He was a golden retriever who had been trained to sit and stay.

But he was... wandering.

He was asking questions about the marble. He was looking at the cracks in the walls.

I didn't care if he danced with a local girl. Let him have his little fantasy. Let him feel "alive" for a week.

But if he started talking to the wrong people... if he started looking too closely at the numbers...

I tapped the screen, staring at Max’s dot.

"Come home, Max," I whispered to the empty room. "Don't make me pull the leash."

I closed the laptop.

I walked to the mirror and checked my reflection. I looked tired. Managing chaos was exhausting work.

I needed to make sure Max stayed busy. I needed to give him a problem he couldn't solve, so he would come running back to me for the solution.

I picked up my phone and dialed the Project Manager in Jersey.

"It’s Catalina," I said. "Send the 'Cease and Desist' letter to that little print shop Max went to. The one on Calle Sanchez."

"On what grounds?" the lawyer asked.

"Copyright infringement," I said smoothly. "Say they used our logo on a flyer. It doesn't matter if it's true. Just scare them. Max likes to play hero. Let's give him a damsel in distress."

I hung up.

I smiled at my reflection.

Structure is safety. And I was the architect of the walls.