Friday came the way Fridays came in my world: with weight.
I'd told the circle I would bring Cruz into the office. The office upstairs at the restaurant, the room above the kitchen, the room with the books and the safe and the window that looked out over Calle Ocho. No driver had ever been in that room. The room was the innermost layer of the onion, the place where the mask was thinnest and the face was closest to the surface, and bringing a man into that room was an act of exposure that worked in both directions. I would see him. But he would see me.
Carlos had argued against it. "You're giving a federal agent access to your books."
"I'm giving him access to a room. The books are in the safe."
"Trust is access. Access is evidence."
