The risk was enormous. If I told her everything, she might decide to publish the story. That would blow everything up and destroy Peter once and for all. But on the other hand, she was smart, resourceful, and the only person in the world I would trust with my life.
I decided to take a chance. I took the SIM card out of my phone and broke it in two. I left the phone on the stairs. I had to find a public phone or ask a stranger to call me.
After some wandering, I managed to find a small shop where an elderly salesman let me use his landline. I dialed Desislava's number from memory.
"Hello?" she called, her voice sharp and businesslike.
"Desi, it's me, Ana.
" "Ani! Where are you going? Your phone is off." I got worried.
"Listen, I'm in big trouble. I can't talk much. We need to meet. But not at home, nor at work. Somewhere completely neutral. And it's urgent. A matter of life and death."
There was silence. I felt Desislava switch from “friend” mode to “journalist” mode.
“Okay,” she said, her voice now calm and focused. “Do you know the abandoned sugar factory by the freight station?
” “Yes.
” “Be there in an hour. Enter through the hole in the fence on the south side. And don’t take anyone with you. Do you understand?
” “I understand.”
The factory was a sinister place. A huge, crumbling building, its broken windows looking out like empty eye sockets. I found the hole in the fence and crept inside. Desislava was already waiting for me in one of the huge, dusty halls.
She hugged me tightly.
“You look terrible. What happened?”
I told her everything. From the man on the train to the scene in the library. As I spoke, she listened without interrupting, her expression growing more serious. When I was done, I took out the folder and handed it to her.
She picked it up and began to leaf through the pages. Her experienced journalistic gaze swept quickly through the documents. She saw things I had missed—connections between companies, repeating names, hidden patterns.
“Jesus, Ani…” she whispered, looking up at me. “You don’t realize what you’re sitting on. This is… this is a bombshell. This isn’t just about an auction. There’s a money laundering scheme here that’s been going on for years. Ivaylo is just the tip of the iceberg. And your husband… he’s up to his ears.
“I know,” I said, my voice trembling. “What should I do, Desi? The lawyer wants us to negotiate, to make a deal.”
