He threatened her if she didn’t keep quiet about the will. Why didn’t she ever report this to the police? Beatriz lowered her gaze. My cousin Aurelio visited me two days after Sara’s death. He told me that if I opened my mouth, he would investigate my taxes, find irregularities I didn’t even know about. He said he could destroy my life with one phone call. I was afraid, Dolores. I was afraid and I kept quiet. And I’ve lived with that guilt for five years. Would you be willing to testify now?
Beatriz looked
or through the window where the sun was beginning to set. Sara was my best friend. I let her innocent husband be condemned out of cowardice. If testifying now can fix any of the things I did wrong, I’m willing. Dolores left Beatriz’s house with a recording of her testimony and renewed hope. But when she got to her car, she noticed something strange: a black vehicle parked at the end of the street, the same model she had seen in front of her house days before.
She pretended not to notice and drove home. The black car followed her at a distance. Dolores changed routes, taking side streets. The car followed her. Her heart was pounding, but she remained calm. In her years as a lawyer, she had faced worse threats. Finally, she stopped in a well-lit area in front of a police station. The black car drove past, but something fell from its window as it sped off. Dolores waited a few minutes before getting out, picked up the object from the ground—a religious medal, one of those that mothers give their children for protection.
It had initials engraved on it. Mr. Martín Reyes. He was following her. Not Gonzalo’s men. Martín. Dolores looked around for the black car, but it was gone. However, she now had one certainty. Martín was alive, he was close, and he was trying to communicate. The question was, why wasn’t he showing himself openly? Who was he so afraid of that he preferred to remain in the shadows after five years? The answer would come sooner than she expected. That night, Dolores couldn’t sleep.
She gathered all the pieces on her table. Salomé’s drawing, Martín’s medal, the forged will, Beatriz’s recording, the connections between Gonzalo and Aurelio. Everything pointed in one direction. Ramiro was innocent. Gonzalo had attacked Sara to silence her. Aurelio had manipulated the case to protect his partner, but something was missing: the direct testimony of someone who had seen what happened that night. Salomé couldn’t talk. Martín was hiding. Without an eyewitness, everything else was circumstantial.
The clock struck 3 a.m., less than 30 hours until the execution. Then Dolores’s phone rang, an unknown number. Mrs. Medina. The voice was male, trembling. Who’s speaking? My name is Martín. Martín Reyes. I know you’ve been looking for me, and I know time is running out. Dolores felt her heart stop. Where are you? Why are you hiding? Because if they find me, they’ll kill me, like they tried to do five years ago. But I can’t stay silent any longer.
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