“And who are you now to give orders?”
“I am his widow.”
“Exactly,” said Mariana. “A widow. Nothing more.”
The word hit like a slap in the face. Everyone in the room began to move, as if Verónica were now an obstacle. As if she were buried next to Simón.
Then Verónica burst out laughing.
It wasn’t a nervous or sad laugh. It was a dry, pure laugh, so unexpected that everyone froze.
Dña Graciela frowned.
“Have you gone crazy?”
Verónica slowly took off her heels and left them by the door.
“No, Graciela.” The thing is, you made the same mistake you always make.
“What mistake?”
Verónica looked up.
“You thought Simón was weak just because he was quiet. You thought he was poor just because he didn’t brag. And you thought you could take advantage of him because you never understood who he really was.”
Cousin Óscar slammed his suitcase shut.
“Don’t talk such nonsense. If he had anything, we would have known by now.”
“That’s why you didn’t know anything,” Verónica replied.
Her cell phone vibrated in her hand. The message was from Simon’s lawyer.
“We’re down.”
Verónica took a deep breath.
Doña Graciela pointed to the door.
“I’ll give you 10 minutes to gather your things before we call the police.”
Verónica looked at Simón’s urn, the full suitcases, and the list on the table.
Then she said with a calmness that frightened everyone:
“It’s good that you mentioned the police.”
At that moment someone knocked on the door.
And when Verónica opened it, no one in that room could have imagined that Simón had prepared everything before his death.
PART 2
The woman who entered the apartment didn’t look like a funeral guest. She wore a navy blue suit, her hair tied back, and carried a black briefcase under her arm. Behind her walked Luis, the building manager, with a folder of documents. Beside him, an auxiliary police officer watched the scene with bored patience.
“Attorney Adriana Montalvo,” the woman introduced herself. “I represent the estate of Simón Treviño and the family trust.”
Doña Graciela burst out laughing.
“Trust? My son sold consulting services. He wasn’t some tycoon.”
Adriana looked at…
Drawers were open, the computer was in Óscar’s hands, and family photos were strewn across the couch.
“It was because of people like you that Simón managed to arrange everything during his lifetime.”
Mariana turned pale, but tried to smile.
“There is no will. We already checked.”
“We know,” Adriana replied. “Simón left very little to inherit. That was intentional.”
There was immediate silence.
Luis opened the briefcase.
“This apartment is not in the name of Simón Treviño as an individual. It belongs to a holding company registered under a private trust. The sole beneficiary and administrator with rights of use is Mrs. Verónica Salgado.”
Doña Graciela took a step forward.
“That’s a lie.”
Adriana pulled out a certified copy.
“It is registered and valid.”
Óscar placed his laptop on the table as if warming up.
“Simón owed me money,” she said. “He promised to pay me back for the investment.”
Verónica looked at him. Óscar always showed up when she needed loans, favors, or contacts. Simón had been solving her problems for years, until he finally stopped.
“Do you have a contract?” Adriana asked.
Óscar clenched his jaw.
“It was a family matter.”
“So it wasn’t a debt. It was a custom.”
Doña Graciela pointed at Verónica.
“She manipulated him. Ever since he married that woman, Simón abandoned us.”
Verónica felt the blow but didn’t respond. She remembered Simón in the hospital in Ángeles six days earlier, his skin translucent in the white light, his voice exhausted.
