PART 3
The freezing water took my breath away. It was already up to our necks. I had Sofi slung over my shoulders so she wouldn’t drown. In the darkness of the cistern, panic was consuming us.
Alejandro, in a flash of lucidity brought on by adrenaline and terror, struggled against the chains that bound him to the pillar. His face was as pale as a corpse’s.
“The wall… Elena, the wall!” he bellowed, spitting water.
I turned my head. On the stone wall in front of us, barely illuminated by the moonlight filtering through a crack, was an ancient relief carved into the rock. It was the eagle devouring the serpent, the symbol of our roots, a coat of arms that Alejandro’s great-grandfather had commissioned more than a century ago.
I suddenly remembered the words of Alejandro’s grandmother on our wedding day, a secret she whispered in my ear that I thought was just a senile delusion:
“When the water drowns the family, only the eye of the eagle will open the path to the truth.”
“The eye of the eagle!” I shouted at the top of my lungs.
I was too far away and couldn’t let go of my daughter. Alejandro mustered strength I don’t know where he got it from. With a heart-wrenching cry, he dislocated his thumb to free his hand from the rusty handcuffs. He plunged into the dark water.
Those were the longest ten seconds of my life. Sofi was crying and I felt like the water was already covering my mouth.
Suddenly, I heard a loud “CLACK!” underwater.
The stone wall trembled and began to rotate on its axis. A deafening roar echoed in the cistern as the water found an escape route, being sucked into an ancient drainage tunnel, dragging us toward a secret staircase.
Coughing and vomiting water, we crawled up the soaked steps. We reached a hidden vault. There they were, stacked in time-rotted wooden crates: gold coins and the original deeds to countless properties in Mexico City. The treasure Camila and Patricia had killed for.
But we didn’t have time to celebrate. The vault door was kicked open.
Patricia and Camila entered pointing their weapons at us, furious to see that we had found the loot.
“What a touching family reunion,” Patricia said, with a deranged smile, cocking her pistol. “Thanks for doing the dirty work, Elena. Say goodbye to your little girl.”
I closed my eyes and hugged Sofi, waiting for the end.
But the shot never came.
Instead, I heard the crash of breaking glass and the imperious shout of tactical forces:
—NATIONAL GUARD! DROP YOUR WEAPONS, ON THE GROUND!
Don Arturo hadn’t called just any private security. He had contacted the federal authorities directly, using the family’s long-standing contacts. Dozens of armed officers stormed the mansion.
Camila tried to run, but she was brutally tackled to the ground. Patricia dropped the gun and knelt, trembling and crying like a coward, begging for mercy. I approached her, wet, exhausted, but stronger than ever.
“You’re going to rot in jail, you damned traitor,” I said, looking at her with disgust.
The nightmare was over, but the aftereffects would remain with us.
A year has passed since that night.
The trial was a media frenzy. A network of fraud and extortion was exposed. Patricia and Camila, whose real name was Lucía, were sentenced to more than forty years in prison for kidnapping, attempted murder, and the murder of Alejandro’s parents. Behind them was a corrupt businessman, “Don Elías,” who was also caught in the raid.
The family treasure was recovered. By law, half belonged to Sofi.
And Alejandro?
The neurological damage caused by the psychiatric drugs Patricia administered to him was irreversible. Today he lives in a specialized nursing home in Cuernavaca. I visited him last week with Sofi.
He was sitting in the garden, staring into space. He didn’t recognize me. But when Sofi approached, he smiled with the innocence of a child and gave her a sweet he had hidden in his pocket. Perhaps, deep down in his broken mind, he knows that she is the only pure thing he ever did. I don’t hold a grudge against him; his ambition was his own downfall.
With my share of the trust, I opened a flower shop and coffee shop in the Roma neighborhood. I’m no longer the weak, depressed woman who was taken advantage of. I met a wonderful architect who adores Sofi and treats us like queens.
Today, as I arrange a bouquet of sunflowers watching the sun stream in through the window, it’s clearer to me than ever:
Karma exists. There are people willing to destroy an entire family for money and ambition, but they forget one golden rule in this life: a mother’s instinct and love will always, always be stronger than the most wicked betrayal.
Beware of those who claim to be your best friends, but above all, fight tooth and nail for your children. Because in the end, the truth always comes out.
