It didn’t fit in.
Throughout that year I had lived with the idea that my father was trying to warn me about my mother.
“Be careful with your mother…”
That was all I had heard.
But now, in that notebook, the words said exactly the opposite.
I slammed the notebook shut.
My mind was in chaos.
What if I had understood everything wrong?
But then I remembered the phone calls, the papers, the house being sold, the letters being burned.
Something didn’t add up.
I put the notebook in my backpack.
I hardly slept that night.
The next morning, I decided to do something I had been avoiding for months.
I went into my father’s room.
The door was closed, but this time the key was in it.
Perhaps my mother had forgotten about her.
I opened it slowly.
The room still smelled of her perfume.
Everything was almost the same as before his death: the books lined up, the hat on the chair, the old wall clock ticking slowly.
But there was something different.
The bottom drawer of the desk was empty.
I then remembered the conversation I had overheard months before.
“I’ve already transferred all the paperwork.”
Perhaps they had been there.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps in the hallway.
My mother appeared at the door.
—Daniel… what are you doing here?
Her voice didn’t sound angry. Just tired.
I turned around slowly.
—Did you sell the house?
She remained silent.
For a few seconds, only the ticking of the clock could be heard.
—Yes —he finally said.
I felt my blood boiling.
—How could you? Dad said never…!
—Daniel.
His voice interrupted me.
—Your father knew.
That left me speechless.
-That?
—The house was sold because he asked me to.
I shook my head.
—That’s impossible.
My mother took a deep breath.
Then he walked to the bed and sat down.
She suddenly looked much older.
—Your father had debts.
-Debts?
—Very large.
I felt the ground move beneath my feet.
—But he always said that business was going well.
My mother lowered her gaze.
—That’s what I wanted you to believe.
For several seconds I couldn’t speak.
-Who…?
She looked up.
—A partner.
That name suddenly appeared in my memory.
The burned photograph.
The man next to my father.
—Who was it?
My mother hesitated.
—Rafael Duarte.
The name sounded vaguely familiar to me.
I searched on the internet that same night.
And I found it.
Rafael Duarte was a businessman investigated for financial fraud years ago.
The news report mentioned several partners.
Among them…
Julian Morales.
My father.
The article stated that the case was never fully resolved.
And that Duarte had disappeared.
My heart started beating faster.
Had my father been involved in anything illegal?
I reread the notebook.
On another page I found a phrase that I hadn’t noticed before.
“Duarte will not surrender.
If he finds me… it will all be over.”
A shiver ran down my spine.
That night I went to the kitchen for water.
The house was completely silent.
But when I looked out the window… I saw something that made me freeze.
A black car parked in front of the house.
With the engine running.
I felt a knot in my stomach.
I ran to wake up my mother.
—There’s someone outside.
She looked out the window.
And her face lost all color.
—Daniel…
-What’s happening?
Her lips trembled.
—They found us.
Before I could ask anything else, we heard loud banging on the door.
Three sharp knocks.
BAM.
BAM.
BAM.
—Open up!
A man’s voice echoed outside.
My mother grabbed my arm.
—Listen to me carefully.
Her gaze was filled with fear.
—Your father didn’t die from illness.
I felt like the world stopped.
-That?
—They poisoned him slowly.
My breath caught in my throat.
-Who?
She whispered:
—Duarte.
The knocking on the door grew louder.
—I know they’re there!
My mother opened a drawer and took out a thick envelope.
He put it in my hands.
—If anything happens to me… hand it over to the police.
-What is this?
—The proof of everything.
At that moment, the door suddenly opened.
A tall man entered accompanied by two others.
His face was older than in the photo… but I recognized him immediately.
Rafael Duarte.
She smiled slowly.
-Good night.
He looked around the house calmly.
—It’s been a long time.
My mother stood in front of me.
—Leave him out of this.
Duarte let out a small laugh.
—You know, your husband was very stubborn.
My heart was beating so loudly I could barely hear it.
—He refused to return the money.
« Lies! » my mother shouted.
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