“I see you’ve made arrangements.”
“I like to know who’s visiting.”
“So do we.”
Santos stepped out of the pickup and walked toward my car. I lowered the window.
“You okay, Mr. Reeves?”
“I’m fine.”
He looked at Victor. “You invited?”
“No,” I said.
Santos rested one hand near his belt. Not on a weapon. Near enough to be understood.
Victor Hale did not move.
“I only need five minutes,” he said.
“You have two,” I replied.
He nodded, as if that amused him. “Your son owes money.”
“Mi hijo tiene treinta años”.
“Él usó tu nombre”.
“Eso fue un error”.
“Él usó tu propiedad”.
“That was fraud.”
“He used your reputation.”
“That was stupidity.”
Victor’s eyes sharpened.
“You don’t seem surprised.”
“I was given documents this morning.”
“Then you understand why we’re concerned.”
“I understand why you should be concerned.”
He smiled again. “Mr. Reeves, men like you interest me. Built things. Kept records. Stayed quiet. Then, overnight, moved with precision.”
