—Does it have a red square in the center?
Elena joined in.
-Yeah.
—Where did you find it?
—On my father’s desk.
Silence.
—Fernando.
—Elena, don’t talk about this on the phone.
The phrase sent a chill down her spine.
They met an hour later in a discreet cafe near Columbus Square.
Fernando had aged. His hair was almost white, and he walked with a cane that Elena didn’t remember.
When he saw the frame, he didn’t touch it.
—I thought Julian had destroyed it.
-What is it?
—A sign.
-About what?
Fernando looked around before answering.
—In 2004, when the company that was supposed to develop Valdemora was created, there was a subsidiary that never appeared in public presentations. It was called Rojo Uno Gestión.
Elena frowned.
—I’ve never heard that name.
—Almost nobody heard it.
Fernando explained that Rojo Uno Gestión was used to channel land purchases, commissions, and bridge loans. The red square was the symbol that appeared on a series of internal folders.
—And the frame?
—I don’t know. Your father started using symbols when he suspected someone was going through his files.
—The Salvatierras?
Fernando did not respond directly.
—Julián believed that Valdemora didn’t go bankrupt solely due to debt. He believed that someone embezzled money before the banks could enforce the guarantees.
Elena felt cold.
—Did you have proof?
—He never managed to raise enough.
—And you believed him?
Fernando lowered his gaze.
—Enough to regret not having helped him more.
Before leaving, he asked her for one thing.
—Don’t show that frame yet.
-Because?
—Because if someone recognizes him, you’ll know he knew Red One.
—That seems useful.
—It can also turn you into a problem.
Elena put the frame in her bag.
That night, Diego arrived late to the apartment.
He kissed her, asked about the preparations, and poured himself a glass of wine.
—Have you found the scriptures?
-Yeah.
—Perfect. After the honeymoon we’ll talk about selling the house.
Elena looked at his face.
—Does Rojo Uno Gestión ring a bell?
Diego stopped moving the bottle for a fraction of a second.
Then he continued serving.
—No.
—Is it safe?
—Elena, I’ve been in the group for years. There are hundreds of societies. You may have heard the name before.
She felt a twinge.
It wasn’t an answer.
-What’s happening?
-Nothing.
Diego approached and hugged her.
“We’re getting married in four days. I don’t want us to end up arguing over our parents’ business.”
Elena rested her cheek against his chest.
For the first time, he found no refuge there.
Later, while Diego was asleep, she opened her father’s laptop.
The computer hadn’t been connected to the internet for years, but Fernando had suggested checking old backups.
In a folder named “VM-2005” he found dozens of files.
One was password protected.
The name was simply:
RED.
Elena tried dates.
Names.
Places.
Nothing worked.
Then he looked at the frame placed on the table.
The small red square seemed insignificant.
Until he saw something he hadn’t noticed before.
It wasn’t painted.
It was a fragment of material glued to the panel.
He ran his fingertip along the edge.
Below was a slight protuberance.
Elena carefully removed the background from the frame.
Between the cardboard and the wood, he found a folded strip of paper.
It contained six handwritten numbers.
He entered the numbers into the file.
The folder opened.
And the first photograph that appeared showed her father, twenty years younger, sitting at a table with Tomás Salvatierra and a man whom Elena immediately recognized.
Diego’s father.
On the table, among documents and glasses of water, there was a folder marked with a red square.
Chapter 3 — Red One
The file contained more than one hundred and twenty documents.
Elena spent the early hours reading contracts, statements, emails printed in PDF format, and photographs of meetings. She didn’t understand all the transactions, but she saw a pattern.
Rojo Uno Gestión bought small plots of land around Valdemora months before the urban development plans were made public. They then resold these plots to the project for much higher prices.
The price difference disappeared through related companies.
Some belonged to external consultants.
Others appeared to be linked to members of the Salvatierra family.
Julián Martín’s name appeared in several documents, but not as a beneficiary.
At four in the morning, Elena found a spreadsheet with a column titled “extraordinary compensation.” Next to Tomás Salvatierra’s name were amounts exceeding three million euros.
Next to the name of Álvaro Salvatierra, Diego’s father, another number appeared.
Next to Julian’s there was a zero.
Elena stared at the screen.
I didn’t know if that proved a crime.
The documents could be incomplete, manipulated, or out of context.
But they were trying something simpler.
His father hadn’t invented his suspicions.
