Two days ago, Mexico
Tristan Martinez sat behind his massive wooden desk, rubbing his temples in frustration. The meeting with Cisco had left him with more problems than solutions.
Dylan, Tristan's eldest son, walked into the room, his eyes scanning the space. "Dad," he said, his voice low and even.
Tristan gestured for Dylan to take a seat. "Son, what brings you here?" Dylan's eyes sparkled with curiosity as he sat down.
"I saw Cisco leaving the mansion," Dylan said, his brow furrowed. "What was he doing here?" Tristan's expression turned neutral, but Dylan's eyes narrowed.
"Nothing, son," Tristan said, his voice smooth. "Who was here?" Dylan's face fell, and he looked frustrated.
"I literally saw him leaving the building," Dylan said, his voice rising. Tristan sighed, realizing he couldn't avoid the question.
"Cisco came to see me about the Torino case," Tristan said, his eyes locked onto Dylan's.
