The strokes do not match. I'm going to report you, Gonzalo.
I'm gonna get Ramiro to get back what you stole from him. Gonzalo walked towards her calmly calculated. And you think someone's gonna believe you? My partner Aurelio is a prosecutor.
My contacts go all the way to the governor. Your word against mine is worthless. I have proof. Tests can go away, so can people.
Sara felt the weight of the threat, but she didn't back down. You have a week to return what you stole. If you don't, I'm going to the police.
I'm going to the papers. I go where I need it.
Gonzalo smiled. That cold smile that Sara had learned to fear. A week understood. Outside the office someone had heard the whole conversation.
Martín Reyes, the gardener, had come to hand over some documents and had been paralyzed behind the door. What I had just heard could cost him his life and he was not wrong.
The village where Martin’s mother lived was called St. Jerome.
It was a place forgotten by time, with dirt streets and adobe houses that seemed to hold by miracle.
Dolores arrived after 4 hours on the way. He found the house of Consuelo Reyes, at the end of an unpaved street, next to a mango tree that gave shade to half a courtyard.
Consuelo was a 75-year-old woman with a face marked by decades of hard work and recent years of pain.
He opened the door with distrust. 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. The eyes of comfort were filled with tears.
My son went missing 5 years ago. The police never looked for him.
I was told he had probably gone to another country for work, but I know something happened to him. Martin would never have abandoned me. He had contact with him before his disappearance.
Consuelo hesitated for a moment. Then he went into his house and returned with a wrinkled letter. This came three days before he disappeared. Read it yourself. Dolores took the letter with trembling hands.
Mom, if something happens to me, I want you to know that I saw something terrible in 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 ask. “I don’t know, but if Martin says he has it, he has it.”
My are never lied. Dolores look at the modest house, the empty yard, the mango tree. Martin 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 as said he cut his steak.
I 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. St. Jerome, why would he go there?
The gardener's mother lives there; the missing who. Martin is dead.
We made sure of that. Are you sure? We never found the body. What if he talk before reached we him?
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