a second floor.
The company had forced them to sign private agreements.
On another page he had written:
If something happens to me, it doesn’t end with me.
I had to close
the notebook.
“He knew,” I whispered.
Vicente did not answer.
—I knew I was in danger.
-Yeah.
—And he continued.
Vicente looked at the pages.
—Because 17 men depended on someone not looking the other way.
I cried.
For two years I had thought that Diego had died due to bad luck.
Then I thought he had died
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