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The Bitter Taste of Betrayal

Hình minh họa cho The Bitter Taste of Betrayal

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Giọng đọc: tiếng Anh

The bright lights in the interrogation room made Esteban look older and tired. Polly sat on his shoulder, her claws gentle on his shirt. The room felt cold and strange, nothing like the busy market they knew.

"I need you to understand something," Valentina said. She pushed a folder across the metal table. "What we're asking is dangerous."

Esteban's hands shook as he opened the file. Inside were photos of men he knew well - men he had shared wine with. Polly watched sadly because they had discovered that even trust could be fake.

"They'll know it's me," Esteban whispered. His voice was heavy with fear. "When I order more Manchego cheese, they'll smell the trap immediately."

"Not necessarily," said Inspector Chen from INTERPOL. She pulled up a chair with a loud screech. "We've been watching their communications. They're getting careless and expanding too fast."

Polly studied the photographs carefully. One image made her feathers stand up - a man in an expensive suit standing beside boxes with fake authentication seals.

"That's Miguel Torrente," Valentina explained. "He owns the company that makes counterfeit certificates. We've been chasing him for two years."

"I know him," Esteban said suddenly, his face turning pale. "He came to my daughter's wedding. He gave us a case of vintage wine as a gift."

The room felt colder. Polly felt Esteban's muscles tense as he understood. This wasn't just business - it was personal. These criminals had entered his family life.

"My daughter has been saving that wine for her first anniversary," he said quietly.

Inspector Chen's expression softened. "We'll need to test it. But Esteban, this is why we need your help. These people don't just steal money - they destroy trust and tradition."

Suddenly, the lights went out. In the darkness, Polly heard glass breaking and Valentina's sharp breath.

"They know," Valentina whispered as emergency lights came on. Someone had spray-painted a message on the mirror: "Some traditions are better left buried."

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