I found my ex-husband digging through a trash can for empty cans.

The University of Chicago library was a gothic fortress of stone and stained glass. At midnight, the campus was quiet, populated only by exhausted students cramming for exams. Thanks to Robert’s lingering knowledge of the building’s old layout and an old faculty key card he had kept like a relic of a past life, they managed to enter through a basement delivery entrance.

Robert led the way through the labyrinthine corridors of the lower stacks, a subterranean world of dust, old paper, and forgotten knowledge. He looked different now—the panic had subsided, replaced by the sharp, focused energy of the academic he used to be.

"It's in the deep archives," Robert whispered, navigating the rows of towering metal shelves. "Section 4B, historical manuscripts. I was working on a study of early 20th-century industrial labor movements when everything happened. I hid the environmental files inside the binding of my research drafts."

Mariana kept watch at the end of the aisle, her ears straining for any sound of footsteps. The silence of the library felt heavy, almost suffocating. She looked at Robert as he searched the shelves, his hands moving with practiced familiarity over the old boxes. For a moment, the grime and the rags faded away, and she saw the brilliant, passionate man she had fallen in love with in their twenties.

"Found it," Robert murmured, pulling a thick, dust-covered box from the top shelf.

He opened it, revealing hundreds of pages of handwritten notes and typed drafts. He reached into the very back of the box, pulling out a sealed plastic envelope. Inside were green-tinted charts, soil analysis reports, and a series of internal memos bearing Arthur Vance’s personal signature, explicitly ordering the burial of toxic waste data.

"This is it," Robert said, his eyes shining in the dim light. "This is the proof that the contamination was known before the holding company was even formed, proving the fraud was entirely planned by your father and Alejandro, long before your name was ever attached to the papers."

"We have them," Mariana breathed, a sense of victory sweeping through her.

"Not so fast, my dear."

A cold, mocking voice shattered the silence of the archives.

Mariana spun around, her blood turning to ice. Standing at the entrance of the aisle was Alejandro. He wasn't alone. Two large men in dark suits stood behind him, their expressions completely devoid of emotion. Alejandro held a small, silver pistol in his hand, his face twisted into a polite, lethal smile.

"Alejandro," Mariana gasped, stepping in front of Robert instinctively.

"Did you really think you could escape my surveillance, Mariana?" Alejandro asked, stepping forward, the click of his expensive leather shoes echoing horribly against the concrete floor. "A trip to a low-rent journalist, a late-night rendezvous with a homeless man, and a midnight break-in at the university? I expected better from a Vance."

"It's over, Alejandro," Mariana said, her voice shaking but defiant. "I know everything. I have the recordings. We have the original reports. The federal prosecutors will destroy you."

Alejandro let out a soft, amused chuckle. "Expose me with what evidence, Mariana? The files in your hands? The recording you hid in your bathroom—which my men have already recovered and destroyed? You underestimate the reach of my network."

He stepped closer, pointing the gun directly at Robert’s chest. "You should have stayed in the gutters, Professor. I gave you your life in exchange for your silence. Now, you’ve forced my hand. A tragic murder-suicide in the university stacks—a distraught, unstable ex-husband attacks his wealthy ex-wife, and her loving current husband arrives too late to save her. The media will eat it up."