She handed him a folded page with careful reverence.
The moment Adrián saw the handwriting, his breath caught.
He didn’t need to read it to know.
It was his father’s.
The same slanted letters he remembered from birthday cards and notes on the fridge.
“If you’re reading this, Adrián, something went wrong…”
The letter spoke of debt. Of danger. Of betrayal.
And one name stabbed through the page:
Esteban — his business partner of fifteen years. His closest ally. The man who had cried beside him at his father’s funeral.
The letter warned him not to trust anyone at the company. Mentioned forged deals. Secret accounts. And ended with one chilling instruction:
“There’s more evidence in my office safe. The password is your mother’s birthday—backward.”
Adrián reread the letter again and again, hands trembling.
When he looked up, Lucía was crying silently.
Not out of fear—but empathy.
His father’s death eight months earlier had been ruled an accident. Adrián had accepted it because sometimes truth hurts less than uncertainty.
Now he held an explanation that hurt far more.
“Why would he do this?” Adrián whispered. “Esteban was family…”
Lucía stepped closer, her voice steady.