Javier looked out the window and saw Ricardo leave in a black sedan.

He did not open the door until he had made sure of his departure.

Then he turned around.

“Dad, what account is he talking about?”

Don Ernesto seemed to have aged ten years in a few minutes.

He dropped on the sofa.

“Your mother had opened an account shortly before she was diagnosed with her disease.”

Javier sat down across from him.

“How much was on it?”

“Two hundred and forty thousand euros.”

Javier’s eyes widened.

“Two hundred and forty thousand?”

“This money came from a small inheritance from her aunt and savings she had accumulated over years.”

“And where is he?”

Don Ernesto hesitated before answering.

“He has disappeared.”

Javier felt his throat tighten.

“What do you mean, disappeared?”

“Ricardo took care of the paperwork. After his death, he gave me documents that seemed to justify a series of payments and transfers. »

“Have you checked them?”

“Not as I should have.”

The old man’s gaze was lost somewhere in the living room.

“I had just buried my wife. I barely had the strength to get out of bed. »

Javier remained silent.

He remembered that period.

His father had lost weight.

He slept on the sofa because he couldn’t stand to enter their marital bedroom anymore.

He would bring Elena’s clothes to the dry cleaners, even when they didn’t need to be cleaned.

The slightest smell that reminded him of his wife made him cry.

“Ricardo told me that the money had been used to cover expenses and obligations that Elena had organized,” Don Ernesto continued. I believed him. »

“And now?”

“Now I know that some of these documents were fake.”

Javier sentit sa gorge se closer.

“When did you discover it?”

“Three weeks ago.”

“Thanks to Pilar?”

The old man nodded.

“She found movements that didn’t match.”

Javier looked down.

This story was no longer just about a house.

There was a woman who died.

A trust betrayed.

And a considerable sum that may have been stolen.

“We have to find Pilar,” he says.

Don Ernesto leaned over him.

“Before that, we need to find something your mother left here.”

“What?”

“A wooden box.”

Javier immediately recognized the object.

A dark box, adorned with small flowers carved on the lid.

Her mother stored photographs, letters and family memories there.

Since his death, no one had opened it.

It was at the back of Don Ernesto’s cupboard.

“What’s in it?”

The old man looked down the hall.

“Your mother told me that she had kept something for you.”

“Why didn’t you give it to me?”

“Because she asked me to wait until you were able to understand it.”

Javier felt a strange shiver.

“To understand what?”

Don Ernesto took a deep breath.

“She never explained it to me.”

They went into the room together.

They opened the cupboard.

Pushed aside several blankets.

But the company was no longer there.

Don Ernesto searched a second time.

Then a third.

Nothing.

Javier began to rummage through the drawers.

“Are you sure she was here?”

“I saw her last Sunday.”

They returned to the drawing-room.

Lucía was sitting by the window.

Don Ernesto regards her.

“Did you take a wooden box from my room?”

She covered her face.

Javier closed his eyes.

“Lucía, please. Tell me no. »

The young woman began to cry.

“Arturo asked me to bring it to him.”

“When?”

« Here. »

“Why?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

But Don Ernesto immediately understood that it was much more serious than the disappearance of a few memories.

Because on the lid of this box was an inscription engraved by Elena.

FOR JAVIER, WHEN THE TIME COMES TO KNOW THE TRUTH.

And now, sixteen years later, someone seemed desperate to prevent Javier from discovering its contents.

CHAPTER 6. ELENA’S LAST LETTER

The next morning, Javier found his father sitting in the kitchen.

Don Ernesto had not slept.

He had an ice pack wrapped in a cloth near his jaw.

On the table were two cups of coffee.

One was intact.

The other had cooled down.

“How do you feel?” asked Javier.

His father did not respond immediately.

“My jaw hurts less.”

Javier looked down.

“It’s not just what I wanted to know.”

Don Ernesto looked up.

“I know that.”

They were silent for a few moments.

Then Javier sat down across from him.

“I have no excuse for what I did.”

The old man held his cup in his hands.

“No.”

“I hit you without listening to you.”

“Yes.”

“And if Lucía hadn’t tried to stop me from looking at the camera, I might still think you were guilty.”

Don Ernesto slowly pushed his cup away.

“That’s what hurts me the most.”