Richard Suttle’s just taken a detour from his quiet life as a fraud investigator in Winnipeg—into the heart of Mexico City’s dark underworld. His mission? Find Brendan Thorst, the reckless 22-year-old son of his ailing high school friend.

Brendan’s no saint. He’s a spoiled troublemaker who vanished after raising the ire of brutal cartels and street dealers by selling drugs to unsuspecting tourists. But that’s only the surface.

The real story is far more twisted—and deadly. Brendan’s on the run after threatening to expose a powerful televangelist who’s hiding a horrifying secret: a child porn operation protected by corrupt cops and blind faith.

Now Suttle must navigate a lethal maze of deception, violence, and betrayal. Because in this city, the only thing more dangerous than the criminals is the man who’s supposed to be on your side.

It was a Friday afternoon in late April. Not a pretty time in my hometown of Winnipeg. Grey skies and snowmelt can bring spring flooding of the Red River. I had just wrapped up a tough investigation. My culprit had finally been arrested at 8:00 am while strolling into his warehouse three weeks after he’d died in a car accident, and after a twenty million payout. Not untypical when you’re an insurance fraud investigator. I deal with liars, first-time gamblers, tricky bookkeepers, as well as good men with bad motives. Long hours, stakeouts, even the occasional car chase are part of the game. As the investigator handbook says, you’ve got to be willing to do whatever it takes to write up the claim and close the case.

Having filed this latest, I was in my cubicle at Sun Life pondering the glories of my Irish grandfather—Manitoba middle-weight champ during the Depression of the 1930s––when my private cell started to chime. A FaceTime call. The second I saw the eyes, I knew there was trouble.

“Hey, Suttle.”

Well, well. Those two words took me back to my younger self driving over the speed limit in a 1996 Ram pickup on a long-ago Saturday night, an open beer under the seat, a lit doob, and me loving the rush of total freedom, the prince of the bad boys of Assiniboine Collegiate waving all the flags at the head of the parade.