The first man in a dark suit opened his jacket and showed an official badge. The second placed another folder in the priest’s hands.
“This ceremony is suspended,” the official said. “Mauricio Ledesma, there is an active investigation into fraud, falsification of signatures, and conspiracy to misappropriate property belonging to Valeria Salgado.”
Camila made a small sound, something between a sob and a curse.
Mauricio turned to her sharply.
“Stop looking guilty.”
“You told me it was handled,” she hissed.
“Be quiet.”
Valeria heard them as if from underwater.
Handled.
That was what her heartbreak had been to them.
A task.
A transaction.
A problem to solve.
She flipped through the papers again, barely understanding the legal language but recognizing enough.
Her name.
Her supposed consent.
Her signature, copied badly from an old passport form.
Her father’s signature as witness.
Her stomach twisted.
Her father, Ernesto Salgado, had died three years earlier.
His signature on a document dated eight months ago looked like something dug from a grave and forced to perform.
Valeria looked at her mother.
“You used Papá’s name?”
For the first time, Doña Beatriz looked afraid.
Only for a moment.
Then pride rushed back to cover it.
“Your father would have wanted the family to benefit.”
“The family?” Valeria asked. Her voice did not shake. That surprised her. “Or Camila?”
Camila’s eyes flashed.
“Don’t act like a saint. You didn’t even know what you had. You were going to waste it.”
“I was going to keep what Abuela left me.”
“You never deserved it!” Camila shouted.
The chapel froze again.
There it was.
Not hidden behind perfume, lace, or fake smiles.