Diaz perches on the edge of an armchair, hands clasped between his knees. His expensive jeans and designer polo look out of place with his rigid posture.
“It’s an honor to have you in my home,” Diaz begins, fingers twisting between his knees. “If there’s anything I can do for the family?—”
“There is.” Gabriel sits on the couch, his knees spread in a relaxed pose. “We’re increasing security protocols at the docks. Effective immediately.”
Diaz blinks rapidly. “I’m always happy to implement new procedures.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Gabriel leans forward, elbows on his knees. “There’s been an uptick in off-manifest arrivals. Small boats coming in alongside scheduled shipments, transfers happening during shift changes.”
The color drains from Diaz’s face. “I haven’t—I mean, I would have reported?—”
“Of course you would have. You’re loyal to the family,” Gabriel soothes. “That’s why I’m here in person. To make sure you have the resources to identify these irregularities.”
I circle the living room, examining framed photos and art pieces while keeping Diaz in my peripheral vision. His attention remains fixed on Gabriel, sweat beading along his hairline despite the cool air pumping through the vents above us.
“The Rockfords are concerned about unauthorized personnel accessing the container yard.” Gabriel taps his finger on the coffee table. “We can’t risk drawing the wrong type of attention to our investments.”
Diaz nods too eagerly. “I can increase patrols. Add verification checkpoints. Whatever you need.”
“Excellent.” Gabriel slides a paper across the table. “This lists specific areas requiring additional surveillance. We’ll expect daily reports.”
My hand brushes a bookshelf as I pass behind Diaz’s chair, dropping the button-sized microphone behind a row of books, and the adhesive backing sticks to the wooden surface.
As Gabriel continues outlining new security measures, the port guard’s shoulders rise toward his ears, his head bobbing in agreement to each new demand.
“We can start tonight,” Diaz says, throat tight with forced confidence. “I’ll rearrange the schedule and put our most trusted people in these areas.”
Gabriel stands, signaling the end of our visit. “I appreciate your cooperation, Hector. The family values loyalty above all else.”
The threat beneath the praise hangs in the air, and Diaz rises, too, stumbling in his haste to match Gabriel’s movement.
“My loyalty has never wavered,” Diaz insists, leading us toward the door. “The Rockfords have always been good to me. I wouldn’t jeopardize our relationship.”
Gabriel pauses at the threshold, turning back with an easy smile. “I believe you. But in case anyone else’s priorities ever become…confused, perhaps you should remind them that our family keeps detailed records of every payment made to every employee.”
Diaz’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Of course. I’ll deliver the message.”
The door closes behind us with a click, followed by the snap of the dead bolt.
We walk toward our vehicles in silence. Only when we’re out of earshot does Gabriel check his phone, tapping the screen to activate the microphone feed.
“He’ll make the call within the hour,” Gabriel says, sliding into his car. “We need somewhere quiet to listen.”
I settle into the butter-soft leather passenger seat, and the engine growls to life. As we pull away from the curb, I cast a final look at Diaz’s house. Through the front window, I catch a glimpse of him pacing, hand pressed to his forehead, the mask of confidence already crumbling.
Gabriel drives down the street to a neighborhood playground and leaves the car idling with the air conditioner on. Between us on the console, his phone displays an audio wavelength, spiking and falling with each sound captured by the microphone. Static crackles through the speakers, then footsteps as Diazmoves through his house, his irregular breathing audible.
“How good is this thing?” I ask, gesturing toward the phone.
“Good.” Gabriel adjusts the volume as Diaz’s pacing accelerates, the rhythm of his footsteps growing more frantic. “Sebastian designed it himself.”
A door slams through the speakers, followed by the sound of running water and the clink of ice in a glass. Diaz mutters to himself as the microphone picks up cabinet doors opening and closing, drawers sliding, and objects being moved.
“He’s searching for bugs,” Gabriel explains, unbothered. “Standard paranoia after a surprise visit.”
My mouth twitches with grim amusement.
The water stops, and the footsteps resume, then pause. A long silence follows, broken by the faint ring of a phone.
