UNDER THE SURGE: Psychological thriller of suspense and crime

Cadiz is a city that lives with its back turned to itself.From the air, if you could fly over the bay in one of those helicopters that sheikhs rent to take photos for Instagram, you would see two worlds separated by barely three kilometers of salt water.Two worlds that look at each other, need each other, and hate each other with the same intensity that a mirror needs and hates the face it reflects.To the north, the marina. A scar of concrete and glass stuck in the coast like a titanium prosthesis, endless pontoons where yachts of forty, sixty, one hundred meters in length rest.Ships that don't sail, that only move to go from Monaco to Marbella, from Marbella to Ibiza, from Ibiza to Monaco, like migratory birds of carbon fiber and ego. On their teak decks, businessmen sign contracts worth millions while flight attendants serve them champagne at eleven in the morning. In their air-conditioned lounges, women with hyphenated surnames laugh at things that aren't funny and take photos that they'll upload to social media with the hashtag #blessed.To the south, across the bridge, is the Viña neighborhood, a labyrinth of narrow streets where the sun only shines at midday and where the facades peel like old skin.Here, women with simple surnames-Medina, Pava, Flores, Jiménez-hang their laundry on the balconies, and the sea salt corrodes the iron of the railings. Here, men leave at eight in the morning to look for work at the fish market, on construction sites, in hotels, and return at eight in the evening with cracked hands and bent backs.Here, rent is paid in brown paper envelopes and dreams are kept in locked drawers.Two worlds. A bay and a wind, the Levante, which blows from Africa and carries the smell of diesel from the yachts to the windows of the social housing apartments, and brings the smell of fried fish and poverty to the noses of those who pay two thousand euros for a night in the five-star hotel.I live on the border.My name is María de las Nieves Medina, but everyone calls me Macu. I'm thirty-eight years old, my hands are full of calluses, and I have a bank account that's always overdrawn at the end of the month.