I leaned against the workbench, keeping my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands.
“Who is representing him?”
“Navaro.”
The name cut deeper than I expected.
Hector Navaro.
The air left my lungs. Navaro was not just a lawyer. He was the attorney I had investigated for corruption years ago. I had watched him lose his government contracts, his reputation, and his standing. And now he was back, representing my father, wearing revenge like a cheap suit.
“He’s not defending Dad,” I said, the realization settling cold in my stomach. “He’s coming for me.”
Matteo shook his head, desperate for a simpler world.
“He’s your father, Paloma. Maybe you should talk to him.”
“And say what? That truth doesn’t need permission?”
He did not answer. Maybe because he knew, just as I did, that it was already too late for talking.
That night, back in my old room, I sat by the window. The ocean murmured beyond the city limits, and the air tasted of salt and ancient rust. I unfolded my mother’s letter again, tracing the words with my fingertips until they blurred into ink shadows.
“You were right, Mama,” I whispered to the empty room. “He’s turning against me.”
My phone buzzed on the nightstand, vibrating against the wood like a warning. It was a message from Matteo.
Dad hired Navaro. They’ve already filed a motion to disqualify your legal license based on character unfitness.
I set the phone down and stared at the small gold insignia resting on my desk. The anchor glimmered faintly under the moonlight, a solitary reminder of everything I had stood for—honor, courage, commitment. The very truth that had once protected me was now being weaponized to tear me apart. They were not just coming for the money. They were coming for my identity.
Still, I drew a deep, shuddering breath and steadied my hands. Whatever they thought they were building, they had no idea what kind of storm arrived when the truth finally decided to speak.