The first said: “FOR MARIANA — MONEY.”
Inside were bank statements, old investments, certificates. At the end, a number I could not understand at first:
23,480,000 pesos.
“That can’t be,” I whispered.
“Yes, it can,” Carmen said. “Your mother had insurance, investments, and a property. Your grandmother protected everything in financial instruments. She lived with little so your father wouldn’t suspect anything.”
My grandmother had worn the same patched sweater for years. She made broth with more water than chicken. She told me not to buy sweet bread unless it was on sale.
And all that time, she had been hiding my future.
The second envelope said: “THE HOUSE.”
I pulled out the deed.
It was the house in Colonia Álamos, the one with the white facade and bougainvilleas, where I remembered my mother’s perfume in the hallway. The house my father sold when I was thirteen, saying my grandmother could not afford it.
It was not my grandmother’s.
It was mine.
My mother had left it to me in a trust.
“Then how did he sell it?” I asked.
Licenciado Arriaga clenched his jaw.
“With forged documents. Powers of attorney, invented signatures, and a company connected to Patricia’s brother.”
At that moment, we heard pounding on the bank’s front door.
“Open up!” my father shouted from outside. “My daughter is stealing family documents!”
I looked through the blind. There was Víctor, soaked, furious, with Patricia behind him and Diego recording with his phone.
My father pressed his face against the glass and saw me.
Then he smiled and mouthed one word:
“Mine.”
Commander Montes opened the door with two agents.
“Víctor Salazar, come with us.”
“This is a family matter.”
“No,” she replied. “This is evidence now.”
Patricia tried to leave for the parking lot, but an agent caught up with her before she could get into her SUV. Diego stopped recording.
And I still had not opened the last envelope.
It said: “FOR THE POLICE — ABOUT LIDIA.”
Lidia was my mother.
The commander took it with gloves.
Inside were photos of the car where she died, receipts from a mechanic, and a USB drive.
The commander looked at me seriously.
“Mariana, what is in here may change everything you believed about your mother’s death.”
And just as she was about to explain, my father began screaming my name from the patrol car…
PART 3
The USB drive had recordings.
The first was of my grandmother, years earlier, speaking with my father in the kitchen.
“I know about the accounts, Víctor. I know you tried to declare Mariana dead.”
“You can’t prove anything, old woman.”
“I also know Lidia wanted to leave you.”
There was a long silence.
