I stared at the photograph as my hands began to tremble.
Then I heard behind me:
-Sofia.
I turned around.
Vicente was at the door.
For the first time since I had known him, he didn’t seem dangerous.
He looked scared.
—Why do you have a photograph of my husband?
Vicente slowly closed the door.
And I realized that I was carrying
8 months working for a man who knew much more about Diego’s death than he had ever told me.
Part 2: Vicente walked towards the window.
It was raining outside.
—Diego worked for one of my construction companies.
I felt my throat close up.
—They told me I worked for a contracting company.
—It was a subsidiary.
—So you were there when he died?
He did not answer immediately.
That was enough.
—Tell me.
Vicente turned around.
—The scaffolding did not fall by accident.
My legs almost gave
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