"I kissed my wife’s cold forehead inside her coffin… and when I opened her clenched hand, I found a navy-blue button torn off with force. I recognized it immediately. It belonged to my brother Rodrigo’s jacket. My mother went pale and whispered,

The abandoned olive processing warehouse was massive, filled with rusted vats and the heavy scent of fermented oil. It was pitch black, illuminated only by a single industrial spotlight pointing at a metal chair in the center of the room.

I sat in the chair, waiting.

The heavy metal doors groaned open. Diego walked in, holding a 9mm pistol, flanked by Valeria, who looked haggard and desperate in her wrinkled black dress.

"Where is the child?" Valeria demanded, stepping into the light.

"Safe," I replied, not moving a muscle. "Far away from the monsters who murdered her mother."

Diego raised the gun, pointing it at my head. "Sign the transfer papers, Mateo. Now. Or you die right here."

"I'm not signing anything until you tell me exactly how you did it," I said, my voice echoing off the cavernous walls. "Look at me, Diego. Tell me how you killed the woman I loved."

Diego laughed, a psychotic, unhinged sound. "She was going to the federal police, Mateo! She had the ledgers! Mother and I went to the house to take them. Elena fought back like an animal. She scratched my neck, fighting for her life."

"So you held her down," I prompted, my blood boiling.

"I held her arms," Diego sneered, stepping closer. "And Mother took the silk pillow from the sofa and pressed it over her face. She suffocated, Mateo. She died gasping for air, begging for you. And you weren't there."

Valeria smiled coldly. "It had to be done to protect the family legacy. You were always too weak to understand sacrifice, Julián."