CHAPTER 5 — The Letter They Couldn't Steal
The workshop exploded into chaos.
Police officers rushed up the stone staircase, their boots echoing through the underground chamber.
By the time they reached the courtyard, whoever had entered the workshop was gone.
Only a trail of fresh footprints remained in the red clay behind the building.
The police commander returned several minutes later, removing his hat with visible frustration.
"They knew exactly where to go."
Eduardo Salazar folded his arms.
"They weren't searching."
"They came for something specific."
Mateo remained kneeling beside the small iron box bolted to the floor.
He ran his fingers across the damaged lock.
"It wasn't opened with a key."
"It was forced."
One of the attorneys examined it closely.
"Recently."
"The metal is still warm from friction."
Valeria felt a knot tighten in her stomach.
"If someone came before us..."
"Does that mean we've already lost the truth?"
Eduardo looked at her with quiet confidence.
"Your father was far too careful to keep only one copy of anything."
Those words gave everyone a small measure of hope.
Using a crowbar borrowed from the workshop, two officers finally pried open the damaged lock.
The lid creaked slowly upward.
Everyone leaned forward.
The box was almost empty.
Almost.
Inside lay only three objects.
A faded leather wallet.
An old pocket watch whose hands had stopped at 7:18.
And a single sealed envelope.
Across the front, in Don Arturo Herrera's unmistakable handwriting, were six words:
"To be opened by Mateo alone."
Silence filled the chamber.
Mateo stared at the envelope but didn't reach for it.
"I don't understand."
Eduardo smiled faintly.
"Perhaps your friend understood you better than you understood yourself."
Valeria gently picked up the envelope and handed it to Mateo.
"I think my father wanted you to have it."
His hands trembled as he carefully broke the old wax seal.
Inside was a handwritten letter.
As he unfolded the pages, something slipped onto the table.
A small black-and-white photograph.
Valeria picked it up.
Her eyes widened.
The picture showed Don Arturo standing beside a younger Mateo.
Between them stood a little girl, no older than five.
She wore two braided pigtails and held a lump of wet clay in her tiny hands.
Valeria gasped.
"That's..."
"Me."
She barely remembered that day.
A distant memory surfaced.
A smiling young man lifting her onto his shoulders while her father laughed.
"You used to make little clay birds," Mateo whispered.
Valeria looked up, stunned.
"You remember?"
He nodded slowly.
"Only pieces."
"But... I remember you laughing."
A tear rolled down Valeria's cheek.
For the first time since her father's death, one happy childhood memory returned—not from her own mind, but from someone who had shared it.
Eduardo quietly gestured toward the letter.
Mateo began reading aloud.
"My dear friend,
If these words reach you, then fate has finally brought you home.
I never believed you were dead.
Even after the newspapers printed your obituary, I knew one day you would return.
That is why I protected what belongs to you.
And why I protected my daughter.
There are people who believe wealth is the greatest treasure in this world.
They are wrong.
The greatest treasure is truth.
Someone will try to convince you that the documents hidden beneath this workshop are all you need.
They are not.
The most important proof was never kept here."
Everyone exchanged startled glances.
Mateo continued.
"I separated the evidence into three parts.
If one was stolen, the others would survive."
Eduardo smiled with relief.
"I knew it."
"The missing file wasn't everything."
Mateo turned to the final page.
His voice became quieter.
"The second part is hidden where your life truly began again.
Only you will understand where that place is."
He lowered the letter.
Confusion filled his face.
"I don't know what that means."
For several long moments, no one spoke.
Then Don Ernesto, the elderly gardener, slowly removed his hat.
"I think I know."
Every eye turned toward him.
"The day Don Arturo brought you here..."
"You weren't found on the road."
"You weren't found in the town."
"You woke up..."
"...inside the old chapel on San Gabriel Hill."
Mateo froze.
A sudden image flashed through his mind.
A wooden ceiling.
The smell of candles.
Rain against stained-glass windows.
An elderly priest saying softly,
"You are safe here, son."
Mateo grabbed the edge of the table.
"I remember..."
Valeria stepped closer.
"What do you remember?"
"I remember a church bell."
"I remember Father Miguel."
"And..."
He closed his eyes tightly.
"I remember someone saying..."
"Don't let them know he's alive."
The room fell silent.
Eduardo's expression darkened.
"Then someone rescued you after the attack."
"And they kept your survival a secret."
At that exact moment, one of the officers rushed down the staircase carrying a folded piece of paper.
"Commander!"
"We found this outside the workshop."
The commander unfolded it.
His face changed immediately.
"What is it?" Valeria asked.
Without answering, he handed the note to Mateo.
Only one sentence was written across the page in black ink.
You found the first secret.
Don't look for the second... unless you're ready to learn who murdered Don Arturo.
Valeria's hands flew to her mouth.
"My father..."
"You mean..."
Eduardo slowly looked toward the workshop entrance.
The official report had always claimed Don Arturo died of a sudden heart attack.
But now...
For the very first time...
Someone had suggested something far more terrifying.
Perhaps Don Arturo Herrera hadn't died naturally at all.
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Perhaps someone had made certain he would never reveal the truth.
End of Chapter 5.
