“And if someone stops me?” she asks.
You already know who that someone would be.
“You tell them you’re retrieving my personal documents,” you say. “And if Emiliano appears, you leave. Immediately.”
“Understood,” Fernanda says.
You hang up and stare at the rain streaking down the window.
For the first time in years, your money can’t solve the problem fast enough.
And for the first time in years, you feel something else besides control.
You feel fear.
Two hours later, your doctor clears you for discharge under “private care.”
Your father argues. Patricia insists. Emiliano smirks.
You ignore them all.
You leave in a quiet service elevator with Tomás’s security team, two men who don’t look like bodyguards until you notice how their eyes track every hallway.
As you exit the hospital, the rain hits your face like reality.
A black sedan waits.
Tomás himself stands by the door, his hair slicked back, suit sharp.
He looks you over with one raised eyebrow.
“You look like you lost a fight with a wall,” he says.
“Feels like it,” you mutter.
Tomás opens the car door.
“You said no questions,” he replies. “So I’m not asking why your family is trying to control your phone.”
You slide inside.
“Thank you,” you say.
Tomás closes the door and gets in beside you.
“Where to?” he asks.
You answer without hesitation.
“Sterling headquarters,” you say. “And then… Tepito.”
Tomás turns his head slowly.
“You’re going to Tepito in this condition?” he asks.
You stare ahead.
“I have to find Lucía,” you say.
“And if she’s bait?” Tomás asks.
Your jaw tightens.
“Then we’ll know,” you reply.
The headquarters lobby feels different when you enter as prey.
Every face smiles too quickly.
Every greeting sounds rehearsed.
Even the air feels like it’s listening.
Fernanda meets you by the elevator, pale but focused.
She holds a small velvet pouch in her hand like it weighs a thousand pounds.
“I got it,” she whispers.
Your pulse spikes.
You step into an empty conference room and lock the door.
Fernanda opens the pouch and spills the contents onto the table.
A green rosary, worn smooth by years of fingers.
A tiny key taped beneath the cross.
And a folded photograph.
You pick up the photo and your breath leaves you.
It’s your mother.
Young. Smiling. Standing outside a modest building in Tepito.
And beside her is Patricia.
Not older-Patricia.
Young-Patricia.
Holding your mother’s arm like a friend.
Your mind stutters.
Patricia never mentioned Tepito.
Patricia always claimed she met your father at a gala in Polanco.
You flip the photo.
A date is written in ink.
1998.
Your mother died a year later.
Your fingers tremble as you set the photo down.
Fernanda watches you, eyes wide.
“There’s more,” she says.
She slides a second object across the table: a small, battered USB drive.
“It was inside the toolbox,” she whispers. “Under the tray.”
Your throat tightens.
“Alejandro,” Fernanda adds, “Emiliano was looking for me. I barely got out.”
You nod, barely hearing her.
You stare at the USB like it might explode.
Then you plug it into your laptop right there.
A single folder appears.
LUCÍA RAMÍREZ.
Inside are scanned documents, photos, and an audio file labeled:
“For Alejandro. Play only if I’m gone.”
Your hand hesitates.
Then you click.
Lucía’s voice fills the room, old but steady, like a candle that refuses to go out.
“Alejandrito,” she says. “If you’re hearing this, it means they are moving faster than I hoped.”
Your skin prickles.
“I watched you grow up,” Lucía continues. “I watched your mother work herself raw. I watched her cry in the hallway because she knew something was wrong.”
You swallow hard.
“She told me Patricia started showing up,” Lucía says. “Friendly at first. Bringing food. Helping with doctors. Acting like a sister.”
Fernanda’s eyes flick to the photo.
Lucía’s voice tightens.
“But Patricia wasn’t helping. She was watching. Listening. Reporting.”
Your stomach twists.
“Your father was already involved,” Lucía continues, and the sentence hits you like a punch. “He wasn’t married to Patricia yet, but she was already his. And your mother knew.”
You grip the edge of the table.
“She found documents,” Lucía says. “Proof of financial fraud in the early Sterling operations. Proof your father would lose everything if it came out. Proof Patricia was part of it.”
Your breathing turns shallow.
“Your mother threatened to go to the authorities,” Lucía says. “Not for revenge. For truth. She was tired of being quiet.”
A pause.
