He walked straight to the back corridor of the hospital, without any security guard daring to ask for his ID. Carmelita was waiting for him by the lockers. When she saw him face to face, she felt her knees give way.

—“Are you Mr…?” she tried to ask.
The man raised one hand, demanding silence, and then extended it toward her. Carmelita handed him the envelope immediately.

He opened the documents under the flickering hallway light. He read the letter. Then he looked at the USB drive. Five minutes passed. Then ten. His face didn’t show a single grimace of pain, but the veins in his neck and his clenched fists told a different story. The anger emanating from his body was palpable.

“Where are the children?” he finally asked, his voice a muffled thunderclap.
“They’ve already been taken home, sir… The widower has them,” the nurse replied, looking down.
The man nodded.
“And her?”
“At the morgue, sir… in the basement.”
The man put the envelope in his jacket.
“Take me to see her. Now.”

They went down to basement level 2 in a freight elevator. The air down there was freezing and smelled of formaldehyde and de:ath. The morgue attendant tried to stop them, but the man in the black suit took out a wad of 1000-peso bills, placed it on the aluminum table, and the attendant vanished as if by magic.

There was Alma. On metal plate number 14. Her skin had a bluish tint, her lips were dry, and her eyes were closed. The man approached her slowly. He didn’t touch her. He stood there, looking down at her, and for a moment, his iron armor seemed to crack.

—“Forgive me, my child. I arrived late,” he whispered, with a pain that came from deep within him.

Carmelita, with tears in her eyes, approached to adjust the white sheet covering the body. As she did so, her fingers accidentally brushed against Alma’s neck, just below her jaw.

The nurse froze. She blinked once. Then again. She placed two fingers over the vein and pressed hard.

“Holy Father…” Carmelita murmured, taking a step back and covering her mouth with both hands.
The man turned his head sharply. “What’s wrong?”
“The girl… She has a pulse! It’s just a thread, but… she’s alive!”

The man asked no questions. In two strides he reached the ironing board, placed his fingers on Alma’s neck, and felt it. An erratic, almost imperceptible heartbeat, caused by a cataleptic state induced by the adulterated medication Rodrigo had given her. Alma wasn’t de:ad; her metabolism had shut down to the very limit of human survival.

In less than a second, the man pulled out his cell phone.
—“I want a private ambulance at the back entrance of the morgue in the capital. Bring the best specialists, resuscitation equipment, and armed security. You have 10 minutes. If anyone opens their mouth, they d1e.”

He hung up. He stared at Nurse Carmelita, took out another thick wad of bills, and handed it to her.
“Listen carefully. As of today, you are retiring and leaving. This woman d1ed at 9:47. Her body was cremated at the family’s request. Alma Navarro no longer exists in this world. Do you understand?”
Carmelita nodded frantically.

Thirty minutes later, Alma was put into an unmarked ambulance, connected to mechanical ventilators, and left the hospital in total secrecy.

Time passed quickly in the capital. A month went by. Rodrigo had collected the full life insurance payout. With the 3 million pesos, he bought a new truck and remodeled the house. Valeria completely took over Alma’s life. They threw a spectacular christening party in a garden in Coyoacán, hired mariachis, and toasted with expensive tequila. In the eyes of society, they were the perfect couple who had overcome tragedy.

More than 900 kilometers away, at a fortified hacienda in the mountains of Nuevo León, Alma opened her eyes.

Sunlight streamed through the windows. She was hooked up to an IV drip, weak, weighing 15 kilos less, but her lungs were filling with air. She slowly turned her head and saw him. The man with the scar was sitting in a leather armchair, drinking black coffee.

“Where… where are my children?” were the first words that escaped her raspy throat.
He set the cup down on the table.

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