sitting opposite us.
The key was hidden inside the lining of an old jacket of Diego’s that I had never been able to throw away.
Inside there was a notebook.
Dozens of handwritten pages.
I immediately recognized his handwriting.
Dates.
Invoices.
Batch numbers.
Photographs.
Names.
Signatures.
And 17 reports related to defective materials used
in several works.
One of them had an authorization.
Arturo Beltrán.
I stared at that signature.
It was the same batch he had talked about in the cellar.
Diego had discovered that a company linked to the Beltrán family had been replacing certified materials with much cheaper ones for years.
The scaffolding that collapsed contained parts from that supplier.
But there was something worse.
Diego had written a note 8 days before he died.
Arturo asked me to stop registering the lots. He said some accidents cost less than halting construction.
I felt my stomach churn.
There’s more to discover. Continue to the next page for the rest of this article.
