The centerpiece was Santa Aurelia.
In 2005, Rojo Uno discreetly purchased Julián’s company debt through intermediaries. When the Valdemora project ran into difficulties, those positions allowed them to force collateral and acquire assets at reduced prices.
Part of the profit ended up financing the purchase and restoration of the palace.
Elena listened to Fernando’s summary with cold anger.
—My wedding was paid for with my father’s downfall.
“Not exactly,” Fernando said. “Money changes hands many times. Don’t make a financial connection into a statement stronger than the documents show.”
Elena breathed a sigh of relief.
-You’re right.
He was grateful that someone was putting limits on his fury.
The investigation found something even more important.
A private deed from 2006 contained a clause by which Rojo Uno recognized Julián’s economic right to certain future capital gains, in exchange for him temporarily waiving his right to sue while he tried to save Valdemora.
The clause was never incorporated into the final settlement.
If it was valid and enforceable, it could have altered part of the bankruptcy.
“Why didn’t my father use it?” Elena asked.
Pilar replied:
—Because perhaps I didn’t keep the original.
Caesar stated that there were two copies.
One stayed with Tomás.
The other one, with Julián.
Elena thought about the frame.
—The red square?
César nodded during a video call authorized by his lawyers.
—Julian marked the folder with that symbol. He said that if one day everything fell apart, all they had to do was show the square to those who had been there.
—And the document?
“It wasn’t in the frame. The frame was a sign that he had stored something elsewhere.”
Elena felt frustrated.
-Where?
—He never told me.
Lucia intervened.
—Dad, does Tomás know?
Caesar closed his eyes.
—Tomás has been looking for it for twenty years.
The question changed.
It was no longer about what the frame meant.
It was where what the frame pointed to was located.
Elena mentally returned to her father’s study.
The wooden box.
The watch without a strap.
The papers.
The note.
“If the Salvatierra family ever tells you…”
The clock.
I had ignored it because it was broken.
She asked Marta to drive to Madrid with her.
They found the watch in the box.
It was an old pocket watch that had belonged to Elena’s grandfather. The back cover had a small dent.
Marta examined her.
—This has been opened many times.
There were no documents inside.
But it did have a tiny key.
It didn’t have a label.
Fernando recognized the format.
—It looks like it came from an old safe.
After reviewing Julian’s bank records, they located a box in an entity that had changed its name three times since 2006.
The cash register was still active.
The fees had been paid automatically from a modest account that Elena had never closed because it contained her father’s last professional copyrights.
The opening required probate proceedings.
Three days later, Elena entered a vault accompanied by a notary.
Inside there was a red folder.
Not a square.
A complete folder.
Elena felt her hands tremble.
It contained an original copy of the clause, correspondence from Álvaro Salvatierra, and a memorandum signed by César.
There was also a letter for Elena.
“If you’ve gotten this far, it means I couldn’t fix it.
I don’t want you to inherit my war.
I want you to inherit the possibility of choosing whether the truth is worth the price of telling it.
If Diego Salvatierra is part of your life when you read this, remember this: no one is guilty of the surname they receive. Only of the decisions they make afterward.
Elena left the letter on the table.
Marta was crying.
—Your father knew who Diego was.
—No. He died before I met him.
Marta pointed to the phrase.
—Then he wrote for any Salvatierra.
Elena smiled weakly.
His father had spent years consumed by betrayal.
And yet he had tried to prevent her from inheriting the hatred.
That night, Elena called Diego.
They met in a quiet square.
He looked exhausted.
—We found the folder.
Diego didn’t ask where.
—Does this prove anything?
—It proves that my father had a right that was never included in the settlement. And that your father knew that Tomás was using Rojo Uno to seize assets.
Diego lowered his gaze.
—I figured as much.
—Did you know?
—I knew my father was afraid of Tomás. I didn’t know to what extent.
Elena took out the letter.
—My father wrote that no one is guilty because of the surname they receive.
Diego looked up.
—That’s more generous than I deserve.
—It doesn’t end there.
—What does it say?
Elena kept the letter.
—That you are responsible for what you do afterwards.
Diego nodded.
