I didn’t know that I had survived a heart attack, a failed marriage, and 40 years of facing criminals in court.
He didn’t know that threatening her was the worst possible strategy. He picked up his phone and called Carlos.
Someone broke into my house. Do they know I’m investigating? That means there’s something they don’t want me to find out. Double your efforts.
I want to know everything about Gonzalo Fuentes, about Judge Aurelio Sánchez, and about any connection between them.
And I want to know what Sara discovered before she died.
Outside, a black car was parked at the end of the street. Inside, someone was watching Dolores’s house with the patience of a predator.
The hunt had begun. Ticarlos worked all night and delivered his findings to Dolores at a discreet café far from the city center. What he brought was explosive.
Gonzalo Fuentes went from being an office worker to a real estate entrepreneur in less than 2 years, he explained while spreading documents on the table.
Right after his brother was convicted, he started buying properties.
Many properties. With what money? That’s the point. He inherited the land from his parents.
Lands that supposedly belonged to Ramiro as well. But according to this will, Carlos indicated a document. The parents left everything to Gonzalo.
Dolores examined the will. Something didn’t add up. Ramiro’s parents died six months before the crime. And this will surfaced after the conviction.
That’s right. And the lawyer who validated it was Aurelio Sánchez. Before becoming a prosecutor, he practiced as a private attorney. This was one of his last cases before joining the Public Prosecutor’s Office.
Dolores felt that the pieces were beginning to fall into place.
Then Aurelio validated a suspicious will that benefited Gonzalo. Later, he became a prosecutor and took the case against Ramiro.
And now they’re partners in real estate. There’s more, Carlos said, lowering his voice. Sara Fuentes worked as an accountant before getting married.
Five years ago, weeks before he died, he requested copies of several legal documents from the Fuentes family, including his in-laws’ original will.
The original will, different from the one validated by Aurelius.
In the original will, the land was divided between the two brothers. Dolores understood everything. Sara discovered the will was fake, was going to report it, and someone silenced her before she could.
That night Carmela called Dolores, her voice trembling. “You have to come, it’s about Salomé.”
There’s something she needs to see. Dolores arrived home an hour later. Carmela was waiting for her in her office with a serious expression.
“The girl has nightmares every night,” Carmela said. “But there’s something I haven’t told her before, something I was afraid to mention.” What is it?
She shouts a name. Every night the same name. But it’s not her father’s or her mother’s name, it’s another name. Which one? Martín. Martín shouts, “Help me,” again and again. Dolores frowned.
That name didn’t appear in any Inosinot documents. Case. Who is Martín? I didn’t know until I checked the Fuentes family’s employment records.
Martín Reyes was the gardener. He worked for them for three years and disappeared a week after Sara died.
Nobody looked for him, nobody asked about him
She disappeared without a trace. Her mother lives in a small town four hours from here. She filed a missing person report, but the police never investigated.
The case was closed. Dolores felt a chill, a potential witness vanishing right after the crime. A name a traumatized girl screams in her nightmares.
This was bigger than I imagined.
“I need Martín’s mother’s address,” Dolores said. “I already have it.” Carmela handed her a piece of paper.
“But be careful, ma’am. Whoever made that man disappear can make you disappear too.”
Dolores put the paper in her pocket. “At my age, Carmela, I’m no longer afraid of disappearing. I’m afraid of disappearing without having done justice.”
Five years earlier, two weeks before the tragedy, Gonzalo Fuentes’ office was on the tenth floor of a glass building in the financial center.
Sara entered unannounced with a manila folder in her hands and fire in her eyes.
“What does this mean?” she asked, throwing the documents onto Gonzalo’s desk. He looked at them without flinching. “Sara, what a surprise!”
Shouldn’t you be taking care of my niece? Don’t change the subject. I found your parents’ original will, the real one.
Ramiro was entitled to half of those lands. You forged them. Gonzalo stood up slowly, closing his office door.
Be careful with your accusations, sister-in-law. They’re very serious words. They’re not accusations, they’re facts. I hired an expert. The signature on the will you presented is forged.
The lines don’t match. I’m going to report you, Gonzalo.
I’m going to make sure Ramiro gets back what you stole from him. Gonzalo walked toward her with calculated calm. And you think anyone’s going to believe you? My partner Aurelio is a prosecutor.
My connections reach all the way to the governor. Your word against mine is worthless. I have proof. Proof can disappear, and so can people.
Sara felt the weight of the threat, but she didn’t back down. You have one week to return what you stole. If you don’t, I’m going to the police.
I go to the newspapers. I go wherever necessary.
Gonzalo smiled. That cold smile Sara had learned to fear. One week, I understand. Outside the office, someone had overheard the entire conversation.
Martín Reyes, the gardener, had come to deliver some documents and had frozen behind the door. What he had just heard could cost him his life, and he was right.
The town where Martin’s mother lived was called San Jerónimo.
It was a place forgotten by time, with dirt streets and adobe houses that seemed to be held up by a miracle.
Dolores arrived after a 4-hour journey. She found Consuelo Reyes’s house at the end of an unpaved street, next to a mango tree that shaded half the patio.
Consuelo was a 75-year-old woman with a face marked by decades of hard work and recent years of pain.
She opened the door suspiciously. “What do you want?” “I’m a lawyer. I’m investigating a case involving the Fuentes family.”
I think your son Martin can help me. Her eyes filled with tears of comfort.
My son disappeared 5 years ago. The police never looked for him.
They told me he’d probably gone to another country for work, but I know something happened to him. Martín would never have abandoned me. I had contact with him before he disappeared.
Consuelo hesitated for a moment. Then she went inside and came back with a crumpled letter. This arrived three days before she disappeared. Read it yourself. Dolores took the letter with trembling hands.
Mom, if anything happens to me, I want you to know that I saw something terrible at the house where I work, something that involves very powerful people.
I can’t say more in a letter, but I’m keeping evidence in a safe place. If anyone asks, say, “You don’t know anything. I love you.”
“Where did your son Martín keep the evidence?” Dolores asked. “I don’t know, but if Martín says he has it, he has it.”
My son never lied. Dolores looked at the modest house, the empty yard, the mango tree. Martín Reyes had seen something that night. He had proof, and someone had made him disappear, so the question was, was he still alive?
In an exclusive restaurant in the city center, Gonzalo Fuentes and Judge Aurelio Sánchez were having dinner in a private room.
The tension was palpable. “That lawyer is asking too many questions,” Aurelio said as he cut his steak.
He visited the prison, spoke with the warden, went to the home where the girl is being held, and now I know he went to San Jerónimo. Gonzalo stopped eating. San Jerónimo, why would he go there?
The gardener’s mother lives there; the one who disappeared. Martín is dead.
We made sure of that. Are you sure? We never found the body. What if he talked before we reached him?
What if he left something that could incriminate us? Gonzalo felt a cold sweat run down his back. What do you suggest? Your brother’s execution is in 48 hours.
Once that happens, the case is closed for good. No one is going to reopen an investigation into a man who’s already been executed. We need those 48 hours to pass without incident.
And the lawyer Aurelio took a sip of wine.
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