PART 1
The September sun in La Mancha is unforgiving. It beats down on the dry, ochre earth like a hammer of molten lead, making the air tremble above the asphalt and the cicadas sing with a relentless, brain-piercing insistence. But that Tuesday, the heat I felt, Aureliano Menéndez, didn’t come from the sky alone. It came from within. It was a fire fueled by anger, disappointment, and a profound sense of failure that burned my insides more than the forty degrees Celsius reading on my BMW’s thermometer.
I was driving aimlessly, getting further and further away from Toledo, away from my company, and above all, trying to get away from the truth I had just discovered. Forty years of hard work. Forty years building, brick by brick, the most respected construction company in the region, sacrificing weekends, vacations, and time with my late wife, all to give my only daughter, Isadora, a queen’s future. And this is how he repaid me.
My hands gripped the leather steering wheel so tightly my knuckles had turned white. The words of the audit echoed in my head like a cursed refrain: “Two hundred thousand euros are missing, Don Aureliano. The misappropriations lead to online gambling accounts. The IP address belongs to your daughter . ”
“Damn it!” I yelled in the solitude of the car, hitting the dashboard.
Stress is a silent killer, they say. But that day it wasn’t silent. It was a roar. First, I felt a sharp pain in my left arm, then a pressure in my chest as if an elephant had sat on me. The country road, surrounded by fields of wheat already harvested and forgotten, began to ripple before my eyes. The world spun. I braked instinctively, dragging the car toward the gravel shoulder, raising a cloud of dust.
I opened the door gasping for air, but the air was fire. I tried to get out, to take a step, to call for help, but my fifty-two-year-old legs, weary from carrying the weight of the world, gave way. I fell face-first onto the scorching asphalt. The last thing I remember before darkness swallowed me was the smell of melting tar and the sound of the absolute silence of the plateau, broken only by the distant squawk of something circling above me.
I don’t know how long I was there. Time becomes fluid when you’re on the edge of the abyss. But I remember waking up. It wasn’t a sudden awakening, but a slow climb from a deep, dark well.
The first thing I felt was pain. My head throbbed like a drum and my skin burned. But there was something else. A shadow. A small, jagged shadow moving above me, giving me a respite from the relentless sun. And sounds. Guttural sounds, hisses, and a thin, childlike voice, yet brimming with fierce courage.
“Get out! Go away, you ugly creatures!” the voice shouted.
I opened my eyes with difficulty. The light hurt my retinas. I blinked, trying to focus. What I saw seemed like a hallucination brought on by the fever and the heat.
Less than two meters from me, half a dozen enormous, repulsive black vultures hovered clumsily across the asphalt, approaching with the macabre patience of death. But between them and my defenseless body, there was an impossible barrier: a little girl.
She couldn’t have been more than four years old. She was tiny, a tiny bird with delicate bones. Her brown hair was matted, full of dust and straw. She wore a blue dress that must have once been pretty, but was now faded and dirty, hanging off her bony shoulders. Her feet… My God, her feet were bare on that asphalt that could fry an egg, black with dirt and calluses.
But what mesmerized me were her eyes. Large, dark, immense in her dirty face. She held a stone in one hand and a dry stick in the other, facing the birds of prey like a Spartan warrior defending Thermopylae.
“Leave him alone!” he shrieked again, throwing the stone with all the strength of his little arm.
One of the vultures croaked in annoyance and took heavy flight to perch on the rotten wooden fence that bordered the field. The others reluctantly followed.
The girl turned toward me. Seeing my open eyes, she dropped the stick and knelt beside me. Her face was streaked with sweat and dirt, but her expression was one of pure concern.
“Sir… sir, are you alive?” he asked, bringing his ear close to my mouth.
I tried to speak, but my throat was like sandpaper. Only a hoarse groan came out.
“Water…” I pleaded.
The girl looked around in despair. We were in the middle of nowhere. Dry fields, a flat horizon, heat. There were no houses, no gas stations, no water fountains. Just the empty road.
—Wait, sir. Don’t fall asleep. Naira will take care of you.
She got up and ran. My eyes followed her, blurry. I saw her run toward the ditch, where last week’s storm had left a stagnant puddle, a mixture of mud and greenish water. I saw her take off one of the rubber sandals she had hanging around her neck (she wasn’t even wearing them), an old, broken thing she’d probably salvaged from the trash.
I watched her fill her sandal with that murky liquid and run back towards me, walking carefully so as not to spill a single drop, as if she were carrying the sacred chalice.
He knelt down again, lifted my head with a strength that seemed impossible in those wire arms, and brought the rubber sole close to my chapped lips.
—Drink, sir. It’s water. It’s a little dirty, but it’ll wet you.
In my life of luxury, of fine wines and bottled spring water, I never imagined I would drink muddy water from an old shoe. But at that moment, that warm, earthy liquid tasted like heaven. I drank it eagerly, coughing a little.
The little girl, Naira, smiled. She was missing a baby tooth.
“It’ll be fine. My mom used to say that water cures everything.”
I collapsed back onto the asphalt, feeling a little more lucid. I looked up and saw what was casting my shadow. It wasn’t a cloud. It was dry olive and broom branches that the girl had dragged along and clumsily piled over my body, creating a makeshift roof to keep the sun from killing me.
The silence returned, but now it was different. He was no longer alone.
A few minutes passed, maybe an hour. I regained control of my limbs. The pain in my chest had subsided, leaving only a dull echo of exhaustion. I sat up with difficulty. The world spun and stabilized.
I looked at the girl. She was squatting about a meter away, staring at me, sucking her big toe in a gesture so innocent it contrasted brutally with the misery of her appearance.
And then, my old nature returned. The nature of the distrustful businessman, the millionaire who sees threats in every shadow, the wounded father who had just been robbed by his own daughter.
I touched the inside pocket of my jacket. The wallet was there. I looked at my left wrist. The gold Rolex, inherited from my father, was still there, gleaming obscenely in the sun.
“Who are you?” I asked, my voice sounding harsher than I intended. “What are you doing here alone? Where are your parents?”
Naira flinched slightly at my brusque tone. She took her finger out of her mouth.
—I’m Naira. I don’t have parents here. I live… around here.
He pointed vaguely towards the horizon.
“Did you touch me?” I asked, checking my pockets again. “Did you take anything?”
The little girl’s face changed. The light in her eyes went out, replaced by an ancient sadness, a resignation no child should ever know.
—No, sir. I just put some shade on him and gave him water. The bad birds wanted to eat him.
I felt like an idiot instantly, but pride is a tough nut to crack. I stood up, unsteady on my feet. I dusted myself off from the thousand-euro Italian suit, now ruined.
“Fine… thanks,” I murmured, without looking her in the eye. “Here, so you can buy yourself something.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a fifty-euro note. I held it out to her. She looked at it blankly, as if I were offering her a lettuce leaf. She didn’t take it.
—I don’t want paper, sir. Do you have a sandwich? I’m hungry.
I had nothing. My car was empty. I felt powerless, and that powerlessness turned into irritation.
—No, I don’t have any food. Go home, girl. You can’t be out here on the road. It’s dangerous.
“I don’t have a home,” she said with a nonchalance that chilled my blood.
—Then go back to the village. Go on, get lost!
I waved my hand, as if shooing away a fly. Or a vulture. Naira looked at me for another second, her eyes filling with tears she refused to let fall, picked up her wet sandal, and turned away. She started walking along the shoulder of the road, with the fragile dignity of those who have nothing left to lose.
I got into my car. The air conditioning hit my face, cold and sterile. I started the engine. I looked in the rearview mirror. I saw her moving away, a tiny blue speck in the vast yellow expanse of Castile.
“Someone will pick her up,” I told myself. “Not my problem. I have enough problems of my own. I have a company to save and a thieving daughter to deal with.”
I stepped on the gas and left behind the girl who had saved my life. I didn’t know then that I was making the biggest mistake of my life, nor that fate, capricious and fair, would bring me back to that same spot much sooner than I imagined.
The mansion was silent when I arrived. My house, a restored villa on the outskirts of Toledo, had always seemed like a refuge. Today it seemed like a mausoleum. Cold marble, high ceilings, empty echoes.
Isadora wasn’t there. Dalva, my housekeeper of fifteen years, came out of the kitchen drying her hands on her apron.
—Don Aureliano! Holy Virgin! What has happened to you? You look like a mess.
—Just a little dizzy, Dalva. It’s the heat. It’s nothing.
—Should I call the doctor?
—No. I just want a bath and to sleep. Has Isadora called?
Dalva lowered her gaze.
—No, sir. But a messenger has arrived. Another certified letter from the bank.
I nodded, feeling the weight of the world again. I shuffled up the stairs. I took off my dirty suit, threw it on the floor, and stepped into the shower. The clean water washed away the dust from the road, but I couldn’t get rid of the taste of mud in my mouth. Nor the image of those big, dark eyes looking at me with concern.
“Naira takes care of you . ”
I lay down, but sleep wouldn’t come. I tossed and turned in the king-size bed, between Egyptian cotton sheets, thinking about the little girl sleeping in the ditch. Thinking about Isadora, who had had everything: the best schools, trips, cars, love… and had stolen it all from me. And that little girl, who didn’t even have shoes, had given me her water.
Guilt is a nocturnal animal. It devoured me for hours.
The next morning, I woke up with a decision. I couldn’t save the world, but I couldn’t leave that little girl there. Maybe I could take her to a shelter, or at least give her some decent food.
I got dressed quickly. I looked for my watch on the nightstand. It wasn’t there.
I checked the bathroom, the floor, the pockets of my dirty suit. Nothing. My Rolex. Thirty thousand euros worth of gold and sentimentality.
The anger erupted again, hot and fast.
“The girl!” I exclaimed aloud. “Damn it, of course it was her! ‘I didn’t touch her, sir.’ Little thief!”
I felt justified. My cynicism was right. She’d drugged me with her sweetness to rob me while I was unconscious. Of course she had. I was a street kid, what did I expect?
I went downstairs furious.
—Dalva, don’t wait for me to eat. I’m going to get back what’s mine.
I drove back to the road with a vengeful determination. I was going to find that brat and take her to the Civil Guard. Nobody laughs at Aureliano Menéndez.
I arrived at the exact spot of the incident. The marks from my tires were still in the gravel. I got out of the car, feeling the heat hit me again.
I looked around. Nothing. Just fields and silence.
I walked over to where I had been lying. The remains of the dry branches she had used to shade me were still there, scattered like a monument to my own vulnerability.
“Girl!” I shouted. “I know you’re around here! Come out!”
No one answered.
I walked a little further, toward the dry cornfield. And then I saw something that stopped me in my tracks.
About fifty meters away, crouched on the hard ground, was she. The blue stain.
I approached with a determined stride, ready to demand my watch. But as I drew closer, my steps slowed.
Naira wasn’t hiding. She was working. With her dirty little hands, she was digging a small hole in the barren earth. Beside her, there was a withered plant, a sad sunflower she had clearly rescued from some landfill, its roots wrapped in plastic.
“What are you doing?” I asked, my voice losing strength.
Naira jumped in fright, turning around. When she saw me, her eyes widened, but there was no fear, only joyful surprise.
—Sir! He’s back!
“I asked you what you’re doing,” I insisted, even though my anger was crumbling.
“I’m planting,” she said, returning to her task. “I found this flower in the village trash; it was crying. My mother said that earth heals sadness. And since this is where you fell and were sad, I thought that if I planted the flower here, we would both be happy.”
I was speechless. My throat closed up.
—Why… why do you think I was sad?
—Because she looked like she was in pain. And because she screamed horrible things in her sleep. She screamed a name… Isa… Dora…
The air left my lungs.
—Listen, girl. I lost something here yesterday. A watch. Gold. Very expensive.
Naira stared at me. She stopped digging. She wiped her hands on her dress, leaving two more mud stains on the already dirty fabric.
—Ah, yes. The shiny clock.
He got up and walked over to a large stone next to the fence post. With some effort, he moved the stone. Underneath, in a hollow carefully cleaned of insects and lined with dry leaves, was my Rolex.
He picked it up and handed it to me.
—I hid it there so the birds wouldn’t take it, or bad men if they passed by. I was hoping you’d come back for it.
I picked up the watch. It was untouched. It gleamed in the sunlight, ridiculously luxurious amidst so much poverty. I looked at the watch, I looked at the girl.
“Why didn’t you keep it?” I asked, my voice trembling. “You could have sold it. You could have bought lots of food. Shoes. A new dress.”
Naira tilted her head, as if I had said something stupid.
“Because it’s not mine, sir. It’s yours. And stealing is wrong. My mother used to say that if you take what isn’t yours, it taints your heart. And I don’t want a dirty heart, just dirty feet.”
I fell to my knees. Not from the heat, nor from a heart attack. I fell to my knees, overcome by the purity of that child. Forty years in business, dealing with sharks, watching my own daughter steal from me… and this little girl, who had nothing, had more honor than all of us put together.
“Are you hungry, Naira?” I asked, my eyes moist.
“A lot,” she admitted, touching her belly.
—Come on. Let’s eat.
—Aren’t you going to yell at me anymore?
—No. Never again. I promise.
I took her to “Venta Manolo”, a roadside restaurant where truckers and my own workers stopped. When we went in, there was silence. Me, in my suit (now clean), and her, holding my hand, dirty and barefoot.
Manolo, the owner, approached, drying his hands.
—Don Aureliano… is everything alright?
—Everything’s perfect, Manolo. Set the best table for us. And bring food. Lots of it. Tortilla, croquettes, pork loin, potatoes, orange juice… everything you have.
“And the girl?” Manolo asked, lowering his voice.
—The girl is my honored guest. Treat her like a princess.
Naira ate like there was no tomorrow, but with surprising politeness. She didn’t choke; she savored every bite, closing her eyes.
“It’s delicious, Mr. Aureliano,” he said with his mouth full of bread. “Don’t you eat?”
—I’m not hungry. I just want to watch you eat. Tell me, Naira… what happened to your mother? You talk about her a lot.
The girl put down her fork. Her expression darkened.
—Mom got sick. She was coughing up blood. A lot of blood. We lived in a small room in the next town over. One day some men came and took her away in an ambulance. They told me to stay with the neighbor, but the neighbor didn’t want me. I went to look for Mom at the hospital, but they told me she had gone to heaven.
—And your father?
—I don’t have a dad. Mom said that Dad was a prince who got lost along the way.
—And how long have you been alone?
—I don’t know. Many moons. I count the full moons. Two have passed.
Two months. Two months surviving alone on the streets at four years old. I felt a deep nausea towards the system, towards the world, towards myself for not having looked sooner.
—Naira, would you like to come with me for a while? I have to go to work. At a construction site. There are big machines.
Her eyes lit up.
—Really? Like bulldozers?
—Yes, like excavators.
-Yeah!
Bringing her to the construction site was quite a spectacle. My workers, rough men weathered by the sun and cement, were completely overwhelmed. Jenaro, my foreman, a man who looked like a six-foot-six grizzly bear, approached.
—Chief, what’s with this visit?
—It’s Naira, Jenaro. She’s… she’s supervising today.
Jenaro bent down, his knees creaking.
—Hi, boss. Do you like cement?
“It smells like rain,” she said.
Jenaro laughed, a deep laugh.
—You’re right, damn it! Wet cement smells like rain. I’d never thought of that.
We spent the afternoon there. Naira ran around (carefully, I kept a close eye on her) carrying nails to the carpenters and water to the bricklayers. She transformed the atmosphere of the construction site. Where there were usually shouts and tension, there was laughter.
As evening fell, when the sun began to paint the sky violet, reality hit me. I had to go home. I couldn’t take her back to the road. But I couldn’t just shove her inside either. Or could I?
I am Aureliano Menéndez. I do what I want.
—Jenaro—I called to my foreman before leaving—. I’m taking the girl home. She has nowhere else to go.
Jenaro’s face changed. He went pale beneath his construction tan. He looked at Naira, who was playing with a piece of hose, and then at me. He nervously took off his helmet.
—Don Aureliano… there is something that… damn, I don’t know if I should.
-What’s happening?
—The girl. Naira. She looks a lot like her.
-Whom?
—To Celina.
The name sounded familiar, but distant. Like a footnote among the thousands of employees who had passed through my company.
—Celina?
—Celina Santos. She worked here five years ago. In the administration of the social housing project.
-AND?
Jenaro swallowed, looking around as if he was afraid of being overheard.
—She was a wonderful girl, hardworking. But… she got pregnant. And Miss Isadora… well, her daughter was in human resources at that time, remember? When you were traveling in Germany.
I nodded slowly. I remembered vaguely.
“Isadora fired her,” Jenaro blurted out. “She said a pregnant woman on the construction site was a liability. That she gave a bad impression. Celina begged her. She said she had no one, that she needed the health insurance. But Miss Isadora was… inflexible. Even cruel, if you’ll excuse me, boss. She threw her out on the street without severance pay, claiming poor performance, which was a lie.”
I felt an icy chill in my stomach.
—Are you saying that Naira is the daughter of that employee? The one my daughter fired?
“She has the same face, boss. And the age matches. Celina left town devastated. I heard she eked out a living cleaning houses, that she got sick… If the girl is on the street, it’s because Celina is dead. And if Celina died in poverty…”
He didn’t have to finish the sentence. It’s our fault .
I looked at Naira. I no longer saw just a cute little girl. I saw a direct victim of my own family’s greed and coldness. My daughter, the one I had spoiled rotten, had condemned this child to orphanhood and poverty even before she was born.
Guilt was no longer a nocturnal animal. It was a monster that devoured me in broad daylight.
“Get in the car, Naira,” I said hoarsely. “We’re going home.”
—To your house, Uncle Aureliano? —she asked, having already promoted me from “sir” to “uncle”.
—Yes. To my house. And from today, it’s yours too.
The return trip was silent. I was processing the bombshell Jenaro had just dropped. Isadora was home. She had to be. And today she was going to listen to me.
We arrived. The house was lit up. I went in holding Naira’s hand. The little girl stared at the high ceilings and chandeliers with her mouth open.
“It’s a castle!” she whispered.
Isadora appeared in the lobby. She was carrying a glass of wine and looked as though she had been crying, but when she saw us, her expression hardened.
“Dad, you’re finally here. I was worried sick. Where have you been…?” She stopped abruptly when she saw the little girl. “What is this? Who is she?”
“This is Naira,” I said, slamming the door behind me. “And she’s going to stay here. Dalva, please run a warm bath for the baby and find some of Isadora’s old clothes from when she was little. And some food.”
Dalva, bless her, asked no questions. She simply gazed at the child with infinite tenderness.
—Come with me, darling. Let’s give you a bubble bath.
“With bubbles?” Naira asked.
—With mountains of bubbles.
When they left, Isadora turned to me, furious.
“Have you gone mad? You bring a beggar home? Dad, we have serious problems. I need to talk to you about… about money.”
“The money you stole from me?” I asked, moving toward her. Isadora stepped back, startled by the coldness in my voice. “That doesn’t matter to me anymore, Isadora. Money comes and goes. But decency… decency is something else.”
-What are you taking about?
—I’m talking about Celina Santos.
The name hit her like a slap in the face. Isadora paled so much that her makeup stood out like a mask. The wine glass trembled in her hand.
“Who?” he tried to pretend.
—Don’t lie to me. Jenaro has told me everything. You fired a pregnant woman, alone and without resources, five years ago. On a whim. Out of cruelty.
—She was useless! She was always late!
“She was a woman who needed help, and you condemned her! That girl up there, that ‘beggar’ as you call her, is Celina’s daughter. Celina is dead, Isadora. She died sick and poor because you took away her livelihood. And that girl has been living on the streets, eating garbage, while you spent two hundred thousand euros on online gambling.”
Isadora dropped the glass. The crystal shattered against the marble floor, spilling red wine like blood. She collapsed onto the sofa, covering her face with her hands.
—I didn’t know… I didn’t know he had died…
—Well, now you know. And I swear on your mother’s memory that you’re going to fix this. That girl stays. And you’re going to take care of her. You’re going to look her in the eyes every day and remember what you did.
“I can’t, Dad… I’m scared. There are people… there are dangerous people after me because of the debts. If they find out there’s a little girl here…”
—What people?
—Loan sharks. They’re not from the bank, Dad. They’re bad people. I owe way more than what I took from the company. They’ve threatened me. They said they know where we live.
A heavy, terrifying silence fell over the room. She had just thrown an innocent girl into the lion’s den.
At that moment, the landline rang. The landline never rang at that hour.
I took it down.
-Yeah?
“Good evening, Don Aureliano,” said a soft, metallic, and sinister voice. “We see you have a new tenant. A very pretty little girl. It would be a shame if something happened to her because of your daughter’s mistakes, wouldn’t it?”
My blood ran cold. They were watching us.
“Listen to me carefully, you son of a bitch…” I began.
—No, listen. We want half a million euros. Tomorrow at noon. Otherwise, the girl pays. And believe me, childhood accidents are very tragic.
They hung up.
I looked up at the top floor where I could hear Naira laughing as she played with bubbles. I had brought my victim’s daughter home to save her, and now, because of my own blood, I had put her in the crosshairs of killers.
But as I listened to her laughter, something shifted inside me. The fear vanished, replaced by a cold, lethal determination. They had threatened the girl who gave me water when I was dying of thirst.
Nobody touches my family. And from today on, Naira is my family.
“Isadora,” I said, hanging up the phone. “Dry those tears. We have work to do. We’re going to need help. Call Jenaro. And make some coffee. Nobody’s sleeping tonight.”
The war had begun. And I wasn’t going to lose it.
PART 2: THE FORTRESS AND THE BLOOD DEBT
I hung up the phone, and the click of the receiver hitting the base sounded like a judge’s gavel. The man’s threat, that soulless, metallic voice, still echoed in the sterile air of my marble living room. “Childhood accidents are very tragic . “
I looked at my hands. They were a builder’s hands, hands that had raised buildings, signed million-dollar checks, and shaken those of politicians and bankers. But at that moment, they seemed like the most useless hands in the world. They were trembling. Not from fear of dying—Aureliano Menéndez had already lived enough—but from the absolute terror of failing a little girl who wasn’t even related to me, but who had saved my life with a sip of dirty water.
Isadora was looking at me from the sofa. My daughter. The apple of my eye, the princess to whom I gave everything so she wouldn’t suffer, and who had ended up becoming the architect of our own destruction. She was pale, her mascara smeared across her cheeks, looking more like a frightened child than the twenty-eight-year-old woman she should be.
“Dad…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “What are we going to do? We don’t have half a million euros in cash. The company’s accounts are audited; if I withdraw that amount, all the money laundering alarms will go off. And my accounts… my accounts are empty.”
I looked at her, and for the first time in years, I didn’t see disappointment. I saw a potential ally. If we were going to survive this, I needed Isadora to stop being the victim and start being the lioness her mother had been.
“We’re not going to pay, Isadora,” I said, my voice surprisingly firm. “Because if we pay today, tomorrow they’ll demand double. That’s how these parasites work. They suck your blood until you’re dry, and then they dump you in the gutter. Just like you did to Celina.”
Isadora flinched as if I had hit her, but I didn’t look away.
“You’re going to get up from that sofa,” I ordered. “You’re going to wash your face. And you’re going to behave like Aureliano Menéndez’s daughter. We have a little girl upstairs who thinks she’s in a fairy tale castle. If she sees fear in your eyes, her world will shatter. And I’m not going to let it.”
—But, Dad, they’re dangerous. They know where we live.
“We’re dangerous too, daughter. They just don’t know it yet. Call Jenaro. Tell him to bring the boys. The trustworthy ones. The old school ones.”
“To the workers?” she asked, confused.
“They’re not just workers, Isadora. They’re men whose salaries I’ve paid for thirty years, whom I’ve helped with mortgages, whom I’ve bailed out. They are loyalty. Something you and I had forgotten.”
While Isadora ran to make the call, I took the stairs two at a time. The silence in the house was oppressive, broken only by the splashing of water in the guest bathroom.
I pushed the door gently.
The scene I witnessed both shattered and rebuilt me. Naira was in the enormous bathtub, surrounded by mountains of white foam. Only her small brown head and her immense eyes, shining with happiness, were visible. Dalva was kneeling beside her, gently lathering her hair with maternal tenderness.
“Uncle Aureliano!” Naira shouted when she saw me, throwing a handful of foam into the air. “Look! I’m a cloud!”
I forced the biggest smile I could find in my repertoire.
—You’re the prettiest cloud in Toledo, Naira. Do you like hot water?
“It’s nice and warm! And it smells like flowers. Outside, the water is always cold, and sometimes it stings your throat. It doesn’t sting here.”
I approached and sat on the edge of the bathtub, not caring about getting my suit trousers wet. I touched her damp cheek. It was clean. For the first time in months, that skin was free of dust and grime.
—Naira, listen to me. People are coming to the house tonight. Friends of mine. Big, strong men.
Her smile faltered for a moment. Her street survival instinct surfaced.
—Bad men? Like the ones who shout in the park when they drink wine?
—No, my love. Good men. Like Jenaro, the one with the excavator. They’re going to come… to play guards. We’re going to protect the castle.
“Protect him from what?” he asked, his innocence piercing me like a needle.
“Of the dragons,” I improvised. “But don’t worry. I am the knight in grey armor. And no one gets past me.”
She looked at me, studying me with that ancient wisdom that children who have suffered possess. Then, she nodded.
—Okay. If you’re the knight, I’m the princess who heals dragons so they can be good.
—Deal.
I went downstairs just as the headlights of three vans illuminated the gravel driveway. It was ten o’clock at night.
Jenaro entered first, filling the lobby with his imposing presence. Behind him came Paco, “One-Eyed,” a formwork carpenter who had lost an eye in an accident twenty years earlier and for whom I had paid for the best prosthesis and kept on the payroll; Luis, the electrician, a silent man who saw everything; and four more. Men with hands like shovels and faces weathered by the Castilian sun. They carried no weapons, only tools: iron bars, heavy wrenches, and above all, unwavering loyalty.
“Boss,” said Jenaro, taking off his cap. “Miss Isadora says we’re having problems with ‘improper charges.'”
—Worse than that, Jenaro. We have threats against a girl. Against Naira.
The atmosphere in the lobby changed instantly. The temperature dropped ten degrees. Those men had met Naira that very afternoon. They had seen her run, laugh, bring them water. For a country man, a girl is sacred. To touch a girl is to sign your own death warrant.
“Who are they?” Paco asked, clutching a pipe wrench in his hand.
—Online lenders. Small-time crooks with expensive technology. They want to get in. They want to scare us.
“Let them come then,” Jenaro grumbled. “We’re going to brick up the side entrances. Luis, check the perimeter and block off any access except the main one. Paco, you and the boys to the garden. If a leaf moves, I want to know.”
That night, my mansion ceased to be a picture-perfect home and became a fortress. Isadora prepared coffee and snacks for the men. I watched her serve them humbly, listening to their “thank you, miss” with her head bowed. She was learning. The lesson was being learned the hard way, but it was being learned.
At three in the morning, we were all in the main hall, with the lights off so we could see outside without being seen. Naira was asleep upstairs with Dalva, unaware that downstairs, eight men were watching over her sleep, ready to fight for her.
I sat down next to Isadora on the floor, leaning my back against the sofa.
“Dad…” she whispered in the darkness. “Do you think Mom would forgive us?”
The question caught me off guard. My wife, Elena, had died ten years ago. She was kindness personified.
—Your mother… your mother would have welcomed Celina. She would have helped her. She wouldn’t have turned her away.
—I know. That’s why it hurts so much. When I saw Celina that day in the office… she was so thin, so desperate. And I felt… envy.
“Envy?” I looked at her, incredulous. “Of what? You had everything.”
“She had things, Dad. But she had a light. She was pregnant, and even though she was poor, she shone. She was happy with her baby. I felt empty, alone in this huge house, with you always traveling. I wanted to turn off her light so I wouldn’t feel so dark. And look what I’ve done. I’ve turned off her life.”
“We cannot raise the dead, Isadora. But we can care for the living. Naira is your penance, but she is also your redemption. If you save her, you save yourself.”
Dawn arrived without incident, but with a palpable tension. The deadline was noon.
At eleven in the morning, my phone rang again. It was him. Marco Antonio, the debt collector.
—Good morning, Don Aureliano. I hope you have the money ready. The clock is ticking.
“I have it,” I lied, my voice sounding tired and defeated. “But not in cash. I have jewelry. Watches. Bearer bonds. It’s worth more than half a million.”
There was a pause on the other end. Greed is predictable.
-Where?
—At the old gas station on the 402 regional road. The abandoned one. At twelve o’clock. I’ll go alone.
“If we see a single police officer, we go straight to their house. And believe me, their walls aren’t as high as they think.”
—I’ll go alone. I want to end this.
I hung up. Jenaro was looking at me, with his arms crossed.
—Are you sure you want to do this, boss? We can call the Civil Guard.
“No, Jenaro. If we call the Civil Guard, they’ll file a report, come, take notes, and leave. And these people will wait. They’ll attack when we’re not looking. I need them to understand the message in their own language. The language of fear.”
—I’m going with you —Jenaro said.
—No. You stay here. You’re Naira’s last line of defense. If I don’t come back… you take the girl to Portugal. I have an account there in my sister’s name. Use it.
Jenaro nodded, his eyes moist.
—Be careful, Don Aureliano. Those people have no honor.
I picked up the briefcase. Inside there was no money, no jewelry. There were bricks. Literally. Pieces of brick from my own construction, wrapped in newspaper. It was heavy enough to look real.
I got in my car and drove toward the abandoned gas station. The sun was high, just like the day I found Naira. The landscape was the same: dry, harsh, unforgiving. But I wasn’t the same man anymore.
I arrived at five minutes to twelve. The gas station was a skeleton of rust and concrete in the middle of nowhere. I parked and waited.
At precisely twelve o’clock, a black Audi with tinted windows appeared on the horizon, kicking up a trail of dust. It stopped ten meters from me.
Three men got out. The one in the middle, wearing a cheap suit and sunglasses, must have been Mark Antony. The other two were built like brick walls, gym thugs with unfriendly faces.
I got out of the car with the briefcase.
“Don Aureliano,” said Marco Antonio, grinning like a shark. “Punctual. I like that.”
“Here it is,” I said, lifting the briefcase. “Now, I want your word. It’s over. Forgive my daughter’s debt and forget about us.”
Marco Antonio laughed. It was a dry, unpleasant laugh.
—My word… how sweet. First, give me the briefcase.
One of the gorillas approached. I handed him the briefcase. He opened it right there.
The silence that followed when he saw the broken bricks was deafening. The gorilla glared at his boss. Marco Antonio turned red with anger.
“What the hell is this?” he shouted. “You think you’re so smart, old man?”
“I think I’m a construction man,” I said, keeping my cool. “I work with bricks. And that’s all you’re going to get out of me.”
“I’m going to kill you right here,” Marco Antonio growled, pulling a pistol from his waistband.
“Do it,” I said, opening my arms. “Kill me. But first, look around you.”
Marco Antonio hesitated. He looked toward the dry cornfields surrounding the gas station.
From among the tall reeds, figures began to emerge. They weren’t police officers. They were my men. But they weren’t the six who were at home. There were fifty of them.
I had made more than one call. I had called all the subcontractors in the region. Plumbers, carpenters, welders, truck drivers. Men I employed. Men who respected Don Aureliano.
They stood there, silent, surrounding the gas station. Fifty men with iron bars, shovels, and chains. Fifty angry workers under the blazing sun.
Marco Antonio paled. He lowered his weapon slightly.
“What is this?” he stammered.
“This is Castile, son,” I said, taking a step forward. “And here, when you mess with one family, you mess with everyone’s family. That gun has, what? Fifteen bullets? There are fifty fathers there. Do the math.”
Marco Antonio looked at his gorillas. They retreated. They knew a lost battle. They weren’t soldiers, they were bullies. And bullies are terrified when their victim rises up as a pack.
“This isn’t over,” Marco Antonio hissed, holstering his pistol and backing away toward the car. “You have resources, old man. But we have technology. And we know things you don’t.”
“Get out,” I snapped. “And if I ever see your car near my house again, I swear we’ll bury you under the foundations of the next building I construct. And no one will ever find you.”
They got into the Audi and skidded as they drove off, fleeing like rats.
My men began to cheer, raising their tools in the air. I felt euphoric, invincible. I had won.
I drove back home with a light heart. I thought it was over.
But when I entered the room, the smile froze on my face.
Isadora was crying again, but this time from pure terror. Jenaro was on the floor, bleeding from one eyebrow, trying to get up. And in the center of the room, seated in my favorite armchair with imperial dignity, was an old woman dressed in somber black, with a wooden cane in her hand and a gaze that could cut through steel.
Beside her, Naira sat very still, holding her wrist.
The old woman looked at me. Her eyes were identical to Naira’s.
“So you’re the ‘gentleman,'” the old woman said in a raspy voice. “You’re late. The monsters have already gone in.”
The real danger wasn’t outside, at the gas station. The real danger had just walked in through the front door, bringing with it the ghosts of the past I thought were buried.
PART 3: BLOOD CLAIMS ITS DEBT
The silence in the room was thick, almost unbearable. The euphoria of my victory at the gas station had evaporated like water in the desert. I looked at Jenaro, my loyal foreman, who was wiping the blood from his eyebrow with a dirty handkerchief.
“I’m sorry, boss,” he muttered, embarrassed. “She came in like a ghost. Before we knew it, she was inside. And… well, she’s an elderly lady. We couldn’t just drag her out.”
The old woman struck the floor with her cane, a dry, authoritative sound that echoed off the marble.
—I am not an “old lady.” I am Benedita Santos. And I have come for what is mine.
Naira looked at me, her dark eyes darting from the old woman to me. There was fear in her gaze, but also curiosity.
“Uncle Aureliano…” the girl said in a whisper. “This lady says she’s my great-grandmother. She says my mother was her granddaughter.”
I approached slowly, sizing up the intruder. Benedita Santos was small, bent with age and hard work, her skin tanned like old leather and her hands deformed by arthritis. But she emanated a primal strength. She was dressed in deep mourning, the mourning of the villages of Spain that lasts a lifetime.
“Mrs. Benedita,” I said, trying to regain control of my house. “If you are who you say you are, welcome. But to come in like this, hitting my employees…”
“Your employees tried to stop me from seeing my own flesh and blood,” she interrupted, rising with difficulty but with pride. “I’ve been searching for this girl for months. Ever since my granddaughter Celina died alone in that charity hospital, I’ve searched every orphanage, every church, every alley in this cursed province. And now they tell me she’s here, in the house of her mother’s murderers.”
The word “murderers” hung in the air, heavy and toxic. Isadora sobbed from the sofa.
“We didn’t kill her…” my daughter tried to defend herself.
Benedita turned her head towards her as quickly as a viper.
“You!” Her voice rose an octave, laced with venom. “I recognize you. You’re the rich girl. The one who played dolls with Celina at the San José orphanage when you were six.”
I froze. I looked at Isadora.
“What are you talking about?” I demanded.
Isadora shrank back, curling into a ball.
—I… I was in an orphanage for a few months, Dad. Before you and Mom adopted me. Don’t you remember? I was five years old.
Yes, I remembered. Elena and I had adopted Isadora because we couldn’t have biological children. We knew she came from an institution, but I never imagined that…
“You and Celina were inseparable,” Benedita continued, relentlessly. “You slept in the same bunk. You promised to be sisters forever. And when those kind people adopted you and left Celina behind, she cried for years. Years waiting for you to come back for her. And when fate finally brought you together again, when she came to ask for a job at your company… you recognized her, didn’t you?”
Isadora nodded, tears falling freely.
—I recognized her.
“And what did you do?” the old woman roared. “Did you hug her? Did you help her? No. You were ashamed of her. You were ashamed of your past as a poor girl. And when she became pregnant, you threw her out like a dog to erase your own history. You let her die of grief and hunger!”
Benedita advanced towards Isadora, raising her cane, but I stepped in front of her.
“Enough!” I shouted. “What my daughter did is unforgivable, ma’am. And believe me, she’ll pay for it for the rest of her life with her conscience. But right now, what matters is Naira.”
Benedita lowered her cane, trembling with rage. She turned to the girl.
—Come on, Naira. Grab your things. We’re leaving. You’re not staying with these people for another minute.
Naira stood up, clutching her wrist. She looked at Benedita, a stranger who claimed her blood, and then she looked at me, the man who had promised to be her knight. And she looked at Isadora, the woman who was weeping uncontrollably.
“Where are we going?” Naira asked.
—Home, daughter. To my home. It’s small and the roof leaks, but there’s real love there, not bought with dirty money.
“But…” Naira hesitated. “Uncle Aureliano gave me a bubble bath. And he bought me shoes. And he told me he would protect me from dragons.”
“They’re the dragons, girl,” Benedita spat.
At that moment, the lights in the house flickered. Once. Twice. And then they went out.
Darkness enveloped us, barely broken by the moonlight that entered through the windows.
—Jenaro—I said, alert—. What’s wrong with the generator?
—I don’t know, boss. I should have jumped.
Then we heard the noise. A window breaking at the back of the house. Then another. And the unmistakable sound of an alarm trying to go off but being abruptly silenced.
Marco Antonio hadn’t given up. My show of force at the gas station had only served one purpose: to make them stop playing at being loan sharks and start playing at being hitmen. They weren’t there to collect. They were there for revenge.
“On the floor!” I yelled, grabbing Naira and throwing her behind the large leather sofa.
Benedita stood there, confused in the gloom.
—What’s going on? Is this another one of your tricks?
“Get down, damn it!” I grabbed her arm and forced her to crouch down next to us.
“They’re inside,” whispered Jenaro, who had crawled over to us. He had a huge wrench in his hand. “Paco and Luis aren’t answering their walkie-talkies.”
A cold, sticky fear ran down my spine. They had neutralized my men outside. They were professionals.
“Isadora,” I said, grabbing my daughter by the shoulders. “Listen to me. Take Naira and Benedita. Take them to the cellar. Close the armored door and don’t open it until I tell you the password.”
—What password?
—“Sunflower”. The password is “Sunflower”.
“And you?” Isadora asked, trembling.
—Jenaro and I are going to have a conversation with these gentlemen.
I saw Isadora pick Naira up. The little girl wasn’t crying. She was in that state of silent shock she’d learned on the streets. Benedita reluctantly followed them, finally understanding that the threat was real.
When they disappeared down the kitchen hallway towards the basement, Jenaro and I were left alone in the dark living room.
“How many do you think there are?” Jenaro whispered.
—Too many. And all we have are tools.
“Enough,” Jenaro said, and I saw his teeth flash in a wild grin. “This is my house now too, boss.”
We saw the shadows moving through the lobby. There were three of them. They were wearing ski masks and carrying baseball bats, and one of them was carrying something that looked like a sawed-off shotgun.
“Menendez!” Marco Antonio’s voice shouted from outside. “I know you’re there. And I know the girl is there. Come out or we’ll burn the house down with everyone inside!”
I didn’t wait. I know my house. I know every creaking floorboard.
—Now—I whispered.
Jenaro threw a porcelain vase toward the opposite corner of the room. The noise attracted the intruders’ attention. They turned their flashlights in that direction.
Taking advantage of the distraction, I came out from behind the sofa and lunged at the nearest one. I’m not a fighter, I’m an old businessman, but adrenaline is a powerful drug. I hit him on the knee with a solid silver candlestick. I heard the bone crack and his scream.
Jenaro was more direct. He charged like a bull at the guy with the shotgun. The gun went off, sending a piece of plaster flying from the ceiling, and the blast momentarily deafened us. Jenaro smashed the wrench against the guy’s shoulder, and he fell howling.
But there was still a third one. And Mark Antony was coming in through the broken door.
The third one grabbed me by the neck and slammed me against the wall. I saw stars. I felt the cold metal of a knife against my throat.
“Game over, grandpa,” he hissed.
“Let him go!” The voice came from the kitchen entrance.
It wasn’t Isadora. It wasn’t Jenaro.
It was Benedita.
The old woman had returned. And she wasn’t alone. In her gnarled hands, she held an old double-barreled hunting rifle, a relic I kept in a decorative display case in the hallway and which I thought was unloaded. But Benedita, a country woman, must have found the cartridges in the drawer below in seconds.
He aimed with a surprisingly steady hand, despite being in his seventies.
“In my village we hunt wild boars,” Benedita said with terrifying calm. “And you’re bigger and slower than a boar. Let the thief’s father go.”
The thug hesitated. A second of hesitation is an eternity.
I took the opportunity to knee him in the groin. He let go, doubled over in pain. Benedita fired into the ceiling, not to kill, but to prove the gun worked. The blast was apocalyptic in the enclosed space.
“Get out of here!” shouted the old woman, reloading (God knows how she knew how to do it so fast) the second cannon.
Marco Antonio, seeing his men fallen and an old woman gone mad with a shotgun, made the wisest decision of his miserable life. He ran.
When the sound of tires squealing away faded, Jenaro turned on a flashlight. The living room was a battlefield. Broken furniture, shattered glass, blood on the Persian rug.
I slumped into an armchair, panting. Benedita lowered the shotgun and leaned against the wall, suddenly looking very old and very tired.
Isadora came out of hiding with Naira. The little girl ran towards me and hugged my legs.
—Uncle Aureliano, did you beat the dragons?
I stroked her head, my hands trembling uncontrollably.
—Yes, little one. But this time… this time a good witch helped me.
I looked at Benedita. She met my gaze. There was hatred in her eyes, yes. But there was also something new. Respect. The respect that is born in the trenches when two enemies fight against a greater evil.
“Don’t think this changes anything,” she said, catching her breath. “I still think you’re guilty. I still want to take the girl.”
“I know,” I said, getting to my feet in pain. “But you’ve seen what’s out there, Benedita. Those people aren’t going to stop. If you take Naira to your house, they’ll go there. And your door isn’t reinforced. Here… here we have a chance.”
Benedita looked at Naira, who was clinging to Isadora. Isadora was crying silently, holding the little girl as if she were her lifeline.
—That woman… her daughter… —Benedita said, pointing at Isadora—. She took the bread from my granddaughter.
“I know,” I said. “But today, Isadora stood in front of Naira when they came in. She was prepared to die for her.”
Benedita remained silent for a long time.
“I’m staying,” she declared finally. “I’m staying until those demons are in jail or six feet under. I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to, but I’m not leaving my great-granddaughter.”
—She’ll sleep in the guest room, ma’am. The best one in the house.
That night, nobody slept. But for the first time, the front was united. We had the brute force of my workers, the money (albeit frozen) of my company, and now, the ancestral ferocity of a Spanish grandmother who had nothing left to lose.
However, I knew it wasn’t enough. Mark Antony would return with more men. We needed to attack. We needed to end this once and for all. And to do that, I needed to find the missing link in this story.
While Naira slept in her great-grandmother’s lap, I approached Benedita with a cup of hot coffee.
—Mrs. Benedita… I need you to tell me the truth about Naira’s father.
The old woman looked up from the steaming cup.
—Why? That man doesn’t know anything.
“Well, he’s going to have to find out. Because to win this war, I need an army. And there’s no soldier more dangerous than a father who discovers his daughter is in danger.”
Benedita sighed, and in that sigh, part of her harshness disappeared.
—His name is Carlos. Carlos Montero. He was an engineer. He worked for you, Don Aureliano.
The name hit me like a ton of bricks. Carlos. My best structural engineer. The most honest man I’d ever known. The one who suddenly left five years ago saying he was heartbroken.
“My God…” I murmured. “The Father is closer than we think.”
PART 4: THE FOUNDATIONS OF A NEW LIFE
It dawned a gray day, one of those that in Castile foretell a storm. But the real storm was inside my office. I had the phone in my hand and Carlos Montero’s number on the screen. I hadn’t spoken to him in five years.
Benedita sat across from me, watchful. Isadora was in the garden with Naira and Jenaro, who didn’t leave their side for a second. The house seemed quiet, but it was the tense quiet of a minefield.
I checked.
—Hello? —Carlos’s voice sounded just as I remembered it: calm, deep, professional.
—Carlos. I am Aureliano Menéndez.
There was silence on the other end.
—Don Aureliano. What a surprise. It’s been a long time. Has anything happened to the plans for the viaduct? I know I finished them before I left.
—It’s not about the viaduct, Carlos. It’s about Celina.
I heard his breathing catch. The sound of a man holding his breath before the ghost of his past.
“Celina?” Her voice broke. “Do you know where she is? I’ve been looking for her for years. She disappeared without a trace. I went to her village, I asked her neighbors… no one told me anything.”
—Carlos, you have to come to my house. Now.
Is she there? Is she okay?
I looked at Benedita. The old woman wiped away a furtive tear with the edge of her shawl.
—No, Carlos. Celina isn’t here. But… there’s someone you have to meet. Someone who has her eyes.
I didn’t have to say anything more. He hung up and told me he’d be there in an hour. He lived in Madrid now, but he’d fly over on the highway.
While we waited, I devised the plan. We couldn’t wait for Mark Antony to attack again. We had to lure him into a final trap. One he couldn’t escape.
I called Commissioner Velasco. Not the switchboard, but his personal cell phone. Velasco and I had gone to school together. I had built him the beach house at cost. He owed me one.
—Velasco, I need a favor. No, I need a miracle. I have evidence of extortion, trespassing, and assault. But I need to catch them in the act. I need you to provide me with unofficial cover.
—Aureliano, that’s very risky. If it goes wrong…
“If this goes wrong, I’m dead anyway. Listen, I’m going to summon them. I’m going to tell them I surrender. That I’ll give them the company’s deeds.”
-You’re crazy?
—It’s the bait, Pepe. The biggest bait in the world. They won’t be able to resist.
Carlos arrived in fifty minutes. He entered the room with a distraught, pale face, searching desperately. When he saw Benedita, he stopped.
“Doña Benedita?” he asked, incredulous.
—Hello, Carlos —said the old woman gently—. You’ve taken a long time.
—I… I looked for her. I swear. I went to the house, but they didn’t live there anymore.
“We were evicted, son. We had to go to the city. And there… there we lost the battle.”
—Celina?
—He died, Carlos.
I saw the man break down. He dropped to his knees, covering his face. A silent, terrible cry, the kind that shakes your shoulders.
That’s when the garden door opened. Naira ran in, her hands covered in dirt.
—Uncle Aureliano! Look! We’ve found a giant worm!
Carlos raised his head. He saw the girl. And time stood still.
Naira stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the stranger crying on the ground. With that uncanny empathy she possessed, she slowly approached. She placed the worm (thankfully) in a flowerpot and wiped her hands on her dress.
She approached Carlos and placed a small hand on his shoulder.
—Don’t cry, sir. Are you hurt?
Carlos looked at her as if he were seeing a divine apparition. His eyes scanned her face, recognizing every feature. Celina’s nose. Celina’s chin. But also… his own ears. His own forehead.
“My God…” Carlos whispered. “My God.”
“Naira,” I said softly. “This is Carlos. He was… he was a very good friend of your mother.”
Naira’s eyes widened in shock.
—Did you know my mom? Do you know where her star necklace is? She lost it and cried a lot.
Carlos sobbed, a laugh mixed with tears. He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out an old wallet, and from a secret compartment took out a cheap silver chain with little stars.
—I found it at the construction site the day he left—Carlos said, his voice trembling. —I’ve carried it with me for five years, hoping to return it to him.
Naira touched the necklace, fascinated.
—It’s yours!
Carlos looked at the girl, then at me, then at Benedita.
-Is…?
“She’s yours, Carlos,” Benedita confirmed. “Celina found out after she was fired. She wanted to tell you, but she was too proud. She thought you knew about the firing and that you hadn’t done anything. She thought you didn’t love her.”
“I loved her,” Carlos said, devastated. “I left the company because I couldn’t stand being there without her.”
Carlos hugged Naira. It was an awkward, desperate hug, filled with love accumulated during five years of emptiness. Naira, surprised at first, relaxed and hugged him back.
“You smell like mint,” she said. “Like the chewing gum Mom liked.”
We had the entire army. Now it was time to win the war.
The plan was simple and suicidal. I arranged to meet Marco Antonio at the construction site of my new residential complex, on the outskirts of town. A labyrinthine place, full of concrete, steel beams, and shadows. I told him I would hand over the deeds to transfer ownership of my company there, far from witnesses, in exchange for him leaving my family alone.
He agreed. Greed is always blind.
I arrived at six in the evening. The sun was beginning to set, lengthening the shadows of the cranes like giant fingers. I had a microphone strapped to my chest, connected directly to Commissioner Velasco’s van, parked a kilometer away.
But my real insurance wasn’t the police. It was my foundation.
Marco Antonio arrived with two cars. Six men. They were armed to the teeth. They felt like winners.
—Don Aureliano—he said, walking through the bare concrete structure of what would be the underground parking lot—. What a poetic place to go bankrupt.
“This is where I started,” I said, placing the folder with the forged documents on a pallet of bricks. “And this is where it ends. Sign this and leave.”
Marco Antonio picked up the folder. He looked through it. He smiled.
—Perfect. Now, on your knees.
-That?
—We’re not going to leave any loose ends, old man. You sign, you “commit suicide” due to the financial pressure, and we keep everything. Including the girl. She sells well in certain markets.
I felt a cold fury, but also relief. I had said it. It was recorded.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Marco?” I asked. “You’re on my turf.”
—Your land is my land now.
He signaled to his men. They raised their weapons.
—Now! —I shouted.
No police officers have appeared. Not yet.
What happened was that the construction lights, the thousand-watt halogen spotlights we use to work at night, suddenly turned on, all at once, blinding them.
And then, the sound. The roar of diesel engines.
From the shadows of the tunnel emerged three giant excavators and two steamrollers. Driven by Jenaro, Paco, and the others, the machines advanced like prehistoric beasts, blocking the exits.
“What the hell…!” shouted Marco Antonio, covering his eyes.
From the upper scaffolding, sacks of cement began to rain down. Carlos was up there, directing the operation. The sacks burst against the ground, creating a suffocating white cloud of dust that obliterated his visibility.
“Police! Drop your weapons!” Velasco’s voice boomed through the megaphones.
Marco Antonio’s men, blinded, coughing, surrounded by heavy machinery and with the GEOs rappelling down ropes from the upper floors, surrendered in seconds.
Marco Antonio tried to run towards a side exit. But Carlos was there.
Carlos, the quiet engineer, jumped from the first floor onto him. They tumbled across the ground in the cement dust. Carlos had five years of pent-up rage. Five years of missing his daughter’s childhood. He punched him, I think breaking his nose, and then again.
I had to separate them before he killed him.
“Carlos! Stop it!” I yelled, grabbing him. “That’s it! It’s over! Naira needs you out of jail!”
Carlos stopped, panting, his knuckles bleeding. He looked at the mobster whimpering on the ground.
“If you ever go near my daughter again,” Carlos whispered in Marco Antonio’s ear, “I’ll encase you in concrete. And I know how to mix it so it won’t set until you stop breathing.”
The police took them away. Velasco winked at me as they put Marco Antonio in the patrol car.
—Nice light show, Aureliano. You’re going to get a fine for operating heavy machinery outside of permitted hours.
—Pass it to me. I’ll gladly pay for it.
Three months later.
My garden is no longer a minimalist design. It’s a wonderful chaos of sunflowers. Naira says that sunflowers face the sun, and that we should always look to the good things.
We’re sitting on the porch. It’s Sunday and there’s paella.
Isadora is setting the table. She’s changed. She no longer wears designer clothes or checks her phone every two seconds. She works at the foundation we created: the Celina Santos Foundation. We help single mothers find jobs and housing. Isadora works there eight hours a day, and at night she studies Social Work. She won’t erase her past, but she’s building a future.
Benedita lives in the garden’s guest house. She says she prefers her independence, but the truth is she likes to make sure Jenaro prunes the rose bushes properly. They’ve become inseparable friends; they argue about football and whether or not to include onions in a Spanish omelet.
And Carlos… Carlos comes every weekend. He’s looking for a house in Toledo to move to nearby.
I look down at the grass. Naira is there, running with a kite. Carlos is running after her, acting silly, letting her win. The girl’s laughter is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. Better than any symphony, better than the sound of money.
Naira stops and waves to me.
“Grandpa Aureliano!” he shouts. “Look how high he flies!”
Grandpa. He’s promoted me again. From sir to uncle, from uncle to grandpa.
I look at my wrist. I’m not wearing the gold Rolex anymore. I sold it and donated the money to the foundation. Now I wear a pink plastic watch that Naira “bought” me with her savings from her piggy bank. She says it tells the time of happiness.
I take a sip of wine and smile. The vultures are gone. And in their place, they left me a family. A strange, broken, and patched-up family, made of scraps of guilt, forgiveness, and love. But it’s my family. And this time, I won’t let them down.
END
