Camila disappeared upstairs.
Doña Beatriz spent twenty minutes calling lawyers, relatives, and perhaps God, though none seemed available.
Valeria sat at a small table near the open terrace. The night air smelled of lake water and extinguished candles.
Alejandro sat across from her.
Between them lay the folder.
Neither touched it.
Finally Valeria said, “Mauricio said you were watching my family before we met.”
Alejandro looked toward the dark garden.
“Yes.”
The single word tightened her chest.
“You should explain.”
“I intended to.”
“When?”
“After today.”
She gave a small, humorless smile.
“Convenient.”
His eyes returned to hers.
“I deserved that.”
Valeria waited.
For once, he did not look like the man who made rooms go silent. He looked older in the candlelight. Not weaker. Never weak. But burdened.
“Your grandmother, Elena Salgado, was not only the owner of that land,” he said. “She was my father’s business partner once.”
Valeria frowned.
“I never heard your name from her.”
“You would not have. They separated badly.”
“In business?”
“In everything.”
The air shifted.
Valeria leaned back slowly.
Alejandro continued.
“My father was young, ambitious, and reckless. Your grandmother was brilliant. She saw value where others saw nothing. That land in Querétaro was supposed to become part of a private industrial corridor. My father tried to pressure her into selling. She refused.”
“That sounds like Abuela.”
“He never forgave her.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
Alejandro looked down at his hands.
“When my father died, I inherited his files. Most were useless. Some were dangerous. One contained notes about your family. Your grandmother had written letters to several lawyers, warning that if anything happened to her, Valeria must be protected.”