Chương 4
The skin was rougher.
There were small scars from years of working with metal and machines.
Hands that had once lifted engines now struggled with buttons on a shirt.
He hated that more than he admitted.
Not because he was vain.
Because his hands had always been his proof that he could take care of people.
Without them, he felt like he had lost the only language he knew.
His phone buzzed on the table.
For a moment, he thought it might be one of his daughters.
Instead, it was a message from his attorney.
The next hearing had been scheduled.
Three days.
Not enough time for anyone to feel prepared.
Too much time for fear to grow.
Don Chema read the message twice before putting the phone down.
A knock came at the door.
He already knew who it was.
Mariana entered carrying a paper bag.
“You are awake.”
“I usually am.”
She looked at the untouched medication.
“You usually pretend you are fine too.”
He looked away.
“That is different.”
“No, it is not.”
She placed the bag on the table.
Inside was breakfast from the small restaurant near her apartment.
Don Chema stared at it.
“You drove all the way here?”
“I was nearby.”
He raised an eyebrow.
Mariana sighed.
“Fine, I was not nearby.”
A quiet smile appeared on his face.
She noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You smiled.”
“I am allowed.”
“You look suspicious when you do.”
He laughed softly.
It surprised both of them.
The sound disappeared quickly, but it had been there.
A small reminder that before everything became complicated, they had once been a family who knew how to laugh together.
Mariana sat across from him.
For several minutes, they ate without discussing the case.
It felt strange.
Almost wrong.
They had trained themselves to believe every moment had to be productive.
Every conversation needed a purpose.
Every hour had to move them closer to proving his innocence.
But there was something important about sitting quietly with someone you almost lost.
Eventually, Mariana opened her laptop.
“I found something.”
Don Chema stopped eating.
The old fear returned.
“What?”
“A name.”
She turned the screen toward him.
A company employee record appeared.
The name belonged to someone Don Chema recognized.
“Luis Ortega.”
He frowned.
“He worked in accounting.”
“He did.”
Mariana tapped the screen.
“He also approved several of the transfers Robles accused you of making.”
Don Chema leaned closer.
“I thought Luis left before that.”
“He did.”
“Then why is his signature on these documents?”
That was the question that had kept Mariana awake the night before.
Not because it solved everything.
Because it created a bigger problem.
Someone had been involved.
And whoever it was had allowed Don Chema to become the only person blamed.
“I need to talk to him,” Don Chema said.
Mariana immediately shook her head.
“No.”
He looked surprised.
“No?”
“No.”
“You always told me to face problems.”
“I also told you not to walk into traps.”
“I am not afraid of him.”
“I know.”
Her voice softened.
“That is what worries me.”
Don Chema looked at her.
For years, he had seen his daughters as people he needed to protect.
Now, for the first time, he saw the exhaustion in Mariana’s face.
The dark circles under her eyes.
The tension she carried in her shoulders.
She was not fearless.
She was scared.
She was simply moving forward while scared.
That was something he had never taught her.
Something she had learned from surviving without him.
“I am sorry,” he said.
The apology came so quietly that Mariana almost missed it.
“For what?”
“For making you become someone who knows how to fight this.”
She looked down.
A few years earlier, that sentence would have made her angry.
Now it just made her tired.
“You do not get to decide what parts of you we inherit.”
He looked confused.
She continued.
“You always say you gave us strength.”
“I did.”
“Yes.”
She closed the laptop.
“But you also gave us your silence.”
The words stayed between them.
Don Chema looked toward the window.
Outside, people moved through their morning routines.
A man walked a dog that clearly wanted to go in the opposite direction.
A woman carried a cup of coffee while balancing a phone call.
A delivery driver searched for an address.
Nobody knew that inside one apartment, a father and daughter were trying to repair years of damage with words they should have said long ago.
“I thought if I carried everything,” Don Chema said, “you would have easier lives.”
Mariana nodded slowly.
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Yes.”
She looked at him.
“That is why I was angry.”
He waited.
“Because you loved us enough to sacrifice for us, but not enough to let us stand beside you.”
Don Chema had no answer.
Because there was no argument against that.
Later that afternoon, the three sisters met at a small library near the courthouse.
They chose it because nobody paid attention there.
People came and went quietly.
Students studied.
Older men read newspapers.
Parents searched for children’s books.
It was easier to discuss a case in a place where everyone was focused on their own problems.
Sofia spread copies of the documents across the table.
“I called someone I know from the records office.”
Mariana looked at her.
“Someone who owes you a favor?”
Sofia shrugged.
“Someone who likes me.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It usually works the same way.”
Elena laughed.
“You have always been impossible.”
“Yet useful.”
They smiled briefly.
Then the mood changed when Sofia pointed to one page.
“This account number.”
Mariana leaned closer.
“What about it?”
“It appears in three different transactions.”
Elena looked confused.
“Wasn’t that expected?”
“No.”
Sofia shook her head.
“Not if Robles was telling the truth.”
The sisters became quiet.
The accusation against Don Chema depended on one idea.
That he controlled the money.
That he moved it.
May you like
That he benefited from it.
But the records showed something different.
