Page 81 of South of Justice

Ryan glanced over but didn’t speak.

“I could just give it to them,” she said softly. “The fragment. I could just give it to Gates.”

He didn’t answer right away.

The tires hummed. A stretch of road passed.

Lucía went on. “That’s what all of this is about, isn’t it? It’s why they took Noah. It’s why Gates turned. They want what I have.”

Ryan’s voice was quiet. “It’s more than that. They want what it means.”

“I know.” She looked down at her hands. “The plan was to finish it. Leak the full ledger to the right channels. Let it blow apart the cartel’s financial spine. Take down the whole rotten infrastructure.”

Ryan was silent.

Lucía turned her head toward him. “But what if it’s not worth it?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

She shook her head. “What’s the point of toppling empires if I let a little boy die in the process?”

His eyes flicked to her again. More carefully this time.

“I’ve spent years holding onto this thing like it was the last thread keeping me connected to Mateo,” she said. “Like if I pulled hard enough, the whole world would unravel and maybe he wouldn’t have died for nothing.” Her voice caught. She swallowed hard. “But now? There’s this kid. This terrified little boy, stuck between monsters. And I could end that. I could give Gates what he wants.”

Ryan didn’t look at her. “He’s a liar.”

“But he’s also strategic,” she said. “He won’t kill Noah if he still thinks he can use him. But if I don’t give it to him…”

She trailed off. They both knew what came next.

After a long pause, Ryan said, “If it were me, I’d give it up in a heartbeat.” He glanced at her. “I’m not saying you should. I’m saying if it were me—if it were my ledger—I wouldn’t hesitate.”

She stared at him. “You’d throw away the only chance to dismantle an international cartel network?”

“Yes. I’d burn the world down for one person,” Ryan said. “That’s not the right answer. But it is the truth.”

Lucía looked away. The desert stretched on around them, flat and empty.

Ryan wasn’t looking at her. But his hand had moved—just barely—between them. Not touching, but close enough that she felt it. “Whatever you choose,” he said, “make sure it’s something you can live with.”

The road twisted through low hills, pocked with scrub brush and scattered cactus. Ryan took the next curve and saw it, about eighty meters ahead.

Two men in uniform. A sagging cone barricade. An old navy-blue patrol car parked off to the side.

“Shit,” he muttered.

Lucía shifted in her seat. “Checkpoint?”

“Looks like.”

She leaned forward, sharp. “Those aren’tfederales.”

Ryan narrowed his eyes. The man on the left wore a sun-faded uniform with a badge stitched askew. His boots were too new for rural patrol. The man beside him had a patch that didn’t match the shoulder emblem. Something about the way they stood, like they were posing as law enforcement, not acting like it.

Ryan let the SUV slow, not brake.

Lucía’s voice was low and even. “Shoes don’t match. And that badge is upside down.”