Chapter 6 - BEHIND THE PAINTING
The wine cellar had not been used in years.
Alejandro unlocked it himself.
Dust covered the bottles.
Old wooden racks lined the stone walls.
At the far end, beneath a canvas sheet, stood his father's painting.
Valeria remained upstairs under Teresa's care.
Marcela followed Alejandro reluctantly.
He removed the sheet.
The frame looked normal.
Then he turned it over.
The brown paper backing was new.
He cut through it carefully.
Nothing.
Marcela exhaled.
"See?"
Alejandro ignored her.
He ran his fingers along the wooden frame.
One section sounded hollow.
He pressed harder.
A narrow panel released.
Inside was a folded envelope.
Marcela went pale.
Alejandro removed it.
His father's handwriting covered the front.
For Alejandro.
If anything happens to me.
His knees almost gave way.
He opened it.
Inside were photocopies of bank transfers.
Millions of pesos moved from the Aranda Foundation into shell companies.
Several companies were controlled by people Alejandro recognized.
Politicians.
Contractors.
One was controlled by his mother.
Another belonged to Dr. Octavio Serrano.
Their family physician.
The doctor who had signed his father's death certificate.
Alejandro felt sick.
There was also a handwritten page.
Esther knows I found the accounts.
Serrano is involved.
If I die suddenly, do not believe it was natural.
Alejandro read the sentence twice.
Marcela covered her mouth.
"Oh, God."
He turned toward her.
"You knew nothing?"
"Not this."
"Do you expect me to believe you?"
"I swear."
He folded the page.
Then something fell from the envelope.
A small key.
No label.
Only a number.
317.
Marcela stared at it.
"What does that open?"
Alejandro shook his head.
Then he heard the cellar door close.
A lock clicked.
Marcela spun around.
"Alejandro?"
He rushed to the door.
Locked.
He pounded it.
"Open this door."
No response.
Marcela's face turned white.
"Mother."
Alejandro pulled out his phone.
No signal underground.
Marcela began breathing faster.
"She knows."
Alejandro looked around.
"Is there another exit?"
"No."
Then he smelled something.
Smoke.
A thin gray line drifted beneath the door.
May you like
Marcela screamed.
"She's burning us in."
