Detective Isabella Ramirez leaned against the balustrade of her Santiago apartment, the city below twinkling like a sea of stars against the canvas of the Andean night. The rhythmic beat of salsa music drifted from distant clubs, a reminder of Santiago's vibrant pulse. Yet, tonight, a different melody lingered in the air too—something ominous and cold, carried down from the very peaks of the mountains.
Isabella's phone buzzed, cutting through the night's tranquility. The voice on the other end belonged to Captain Mateo Ruiz, a grizzled veteran who had seen Santiago's underbelly in all its shades.
"We caught one." He said.
"It's a big one."
"Anyone I know?" Isabella replied.
"I think so. It's Fuentes…Alejandro Fuentes."
"The art dealer?!" Isabella said.
"Mmm" Ruiz mumbled.
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