Narcos Direct

Luis hung up. He walked back toward his apartment, not running, not walking slow—just moving. A man with no destination. A man who had just signed his own death warrant.

“Sure you don’t,” Peña said, lighting a cigarette. “But here’s the thing. La Catedral—that private prison Pablo is building for himself? He won’t have room for accountants. When this falls—and it will fall—you think Pablo’s going to let you testify? Or do you think he’ll give you a nice severance package? A bullet to the back of the head is free, Luis. Very cost-effective.”

“Plata o plomo,” Peña muttered. “Silver or lead. We keep offering silver. But Pablo only ever gives one thing.”