If the heirs died or were legally declared “missing without a trace” before the age of six, full control of the assets would transfer to the executor of the estate—
Lawyer Damián Gaviria.
The triplets’ sixth birthday was the following week.
Damián hadn’t just locked them away to manipulate the old millionaire. He was waiting—either for them to starve to death or for time to run out so he could declare them missing and claim the entire fortune.
“Uncle Damián” wasn’t a guardian.
He was a murderer in waiting.
At that exact moment, the storage room door flew open.
Damián Gaviria stood there, his face twisted with icy rage. He had seen Camila’s backpack in the hallway.
“You!” he shouted. “Miserable little cleaner! What do you think you’re doing?”
His eyes locked onto the children.
He stepped toward the trunk, one hand slipping inside his jacket.
“Don’t come any closer!” Camila yelled, placing herself between him and the children.
Damián laughed—a dry, ugly sound. “How touching. Did you really think you could steal my inheritance with these little parasites? No one knows they’re here. The old man is sedated, and I control everything. You’ll regret crossing this line.”
He pulled out a small vial.