Busti had seventy-two minutes before the last print edition of the morning papers went to press. He had one hundred and twenty minutes before the morning news cycles locked in their scripts. And he had exactly three minutes before his own self-imposed deadline—the última hora —to publish something that could save lives but destroy his last remaining source of peace.
He had no daughter. He had never married, never had children. The blog was his only offspring. But the fact that they thought he had one meant they were scared. Scared people made mistakes.