Chapter 16 - THE HOTEL I OWNED
I did not own a hotel.
At least, I didn't think I did.
Elena found the paperwork by sunrise.
A shell company.
Created by my father.
Transferred to my mother.
Transferred to me after her death.
Buried inside a family trust I had never bothered to read closely.
The hotel was half-abandoned now.
A small beachfront property outside Puerto Morelos.
I remembered it.
My parents had taken us there when Rafael and I were children.
My mother called it “our secret place.”
Apparently she meant that literally.
We flew to Cancún with police coordination.
Camila stayed with Lucía.
I hated leaving her.
I hated taking her anywhere more.
There were no good choices anymore.
At the hotel, the manager recognized my last name.
Not Salgado.
Vega.
My maiden name.
“Your mother came every year,” he said.
“After my brother died?”
He looked confused.
“Your brother came too.”
Rafael stared at him.
“When?”
“Many times.”
My brother looked away.
Another lie.
I almost hit him again.
Instead I said, “Later.”
Progress.
The manager led us to a locked office.
Inside was my mother's private archive.
Not criminal ledgers.
Letters.
Photographs.
Receipts.
She had been paying Rafael to stay away from me.
Year after year.
He took the money.
I turned on him.
“You let me grieve you for money.”
His eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I was angry.”
“At me?”
“At everyone who got to keep living normally.”
“You chose that.”
“I know.”
This time, when he said it, I didn't tell him to stop.
I wanted him to hear himself.
A car door slammed outside.
Rafael looked through the window.
“Ignacio.”
We moved.
Police were ten minutes away.
Ignacio entered the lobby with two men.
Teresa was with him.
Not tied.
Not frightened.
Walking beside him.
Sofía whispered, “Mom?”
Teresa looked up.
Her face hardened.
“Get out.”
Ignacio smiled.
“My family reunion is becoming crowded.”
I stepped into the lobby.
“This hotel is mine.”
He laughed.
“Then you should charge better rates.”
“Why are you here?”
“For what your mother hid.”
“What?”
He looked toward the old courtyard.
“Something Rafael has been searching for since before his fake funeral.”
I turned to my brother.
He went pale.
“You knew.”
He didn't answer.
Ignacio did.
“Of course he knew.”
He pointed toward the dry fountain.
“Your mother buried thirty million pesos under that courtyard.”
I laughed.
Nobody else did.
Then Rafael whispered, “It's not money.”
Ignacio's smile disappeared.
I looked at my brother.
“What is it?”
Rafael stared at the fountain.
“Evidence.”
“Of what?”
He swallowed.
“Of a murder.”
A police siren sounded in the distance.
Ignacio pulled a gun.
May you like
And Teresa stepped in front of him.
