Chapter 4 - THE OFFER
Fuentes read the message twice.
“Meet him somewhere public,” she said. “Do not sign anything. Do not give him the original documents.”
“You think he’ll admit something?”
“I think he’ll tell us what he wants.”
Jorge chose a restaurant with white tablecloths and windows overlooking a courtyard.
He stood when I arrived.
“My son.”
“Don’t call me that.”
His smile tightened, but he sat.
For three years, I had admired him. He remembered waiters’ names. Paid bills before anyone noticed. Asked about my work as if he truly cared.
Now I wondered how much practice it took to make control look like kindness.
“Karina is devastated,” he said.
“My mother is in the hospital.”
“Both things can be true.”
He slid a thin folder across the table.
“A solution.”
I didn’t touch it.
“The land belongs to your family. Nobody disputes that. My company has a project that needs access through it. We pay a fair price. Your mother receives excellent care. You and Karina start fresh.”
“Seventy million?”
“More, under the right terms.”
“And the police?”
“People sometimes misunderstand medical situations.”
I pushed the folder back.
“My father wrote that Hector threatened him.”
Jorge leaned against his chair.
“Your father was not the innocent man your mother remembers.”
“Then tell me who he was.”
“An accountant who forgot loyalty.”
“He was your father’s partner.”
“He was paid to keep books.”
“The deed says otherwise.”
Jorge’s eyes sharpened.
“So you found the box.”
I held his gaze.
He looked toward the courtyard before continuing.
“My father built something from nothing. Rodrigo benefited from that. Then he decided his conscience mattered more than everyone else’s livelihood.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means old documents can make decent people look terrible when you remove the context.”
“Which documents?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he tapped the folder.
“You have no idea how much money is already committed to this development.”
“That sounds like your problem.”
For the first time, anger broke through.
“Your father said almost exactly the same thing.”
I stood.
Jorge caught my wrist.
Not hard.
Just enough to remind me he expected obedience.
“Think carefully,” he said. “Your mother has survived one crisis. Don’t give her another.”
I pulled away.
Outside, I called Fuentes and repeated every word.
She was silent for a moment.
Then she said, “There’s something you need to see.”
“What?”
“The property is already listed in documents supporting his new project.”
May you like
“That’s impossible.”
“Yes,” she said. “And one of those documents carries your mother’s signature.”
