Rodah’s POVThe heavy oak doors of the border manor opened into a high-ceilinged stone hall. The air inside was cold, smelling of old wood, wet wool, and cigar smoke. Security guards in black tactical vests stood every ten feet along the walls, their hands resting flat on their holstered weapons.Martinez walked in first, his grip firm on my upper arm, keeping me glued to his right side. Pedro followed two steps behind us, clutching his sore ribs and trying to look important. Gustavo stayed close to Pedro's shoulder, watching his every move.At the center of the hall sat a massive rectangular conference table made of dark mahogany. Three men were already seated.Maldok Meyers sat on the left. He was a broad, heavy man with white hair, dark eyes, and a face carved deep with lines of anger. He glared straight at Martinez the moment we stepped across the threshold, his thick fingers gripping the arms of his chair so tightly his knuckles turned white.To his right sat Lawrence Freeheight
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