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Inside, the staff bustle about, calling for ice-making arrangements. I sink into a chair, numb. Juanita presses a glass of water into my hands, stained with blood and soil, but I don't even notice.
How can I do this alone? I am not ready to lead our empire, to avenge my father against such powerful enemies. Partly for I'm just a child at twenty-four. And largely because I can not imagine who would do such a thing. I must be strong. The answers will come in time I hear Papa's counsel.
I dash the tears from my eyes. There is much to do before we can properly mourn. I straighten my back and start issuing orders.
Papa's empire is now mine to defend. But first, I must give his life a goodbye that will be spoken of for generations.
Slowly I stand up. With new determination I make my way through the whispering staff towards the kitchen, certain that some of the staff there are still in the dark.
"Señorita?" Rosa gasps, taking in my disheveled, blood-stained appearance.
"Rosa, listen closely," I say, my voice sounding calmer than I feel. "Papa is dead. Gunned down. You must help me make preparations for the wake."
Her face pales, but she nods. "Sí, señorita. I will gather the others."
"Quickly. And discreetly," I add. “No one must know what we have planned. His funeral will be the greatest talk in town. The enemies who killed him will cower to learn who came.”
Rosa and the others nod. Just then, the door opens and the remainder of the staff, led by Juanita, gather near the entrance. They stare at me like I’m made of glass. Little do they know, I won’t shatter. I refuse to.
I take a deep breath to steady myself as Juanita and the others look to me expectantly. There is no time to grieve just yet.
"Prepare my father's body for his funeral. Call the church and make arrangements," I say, my voice wavering only slightly.
Juanita nods. "Sí, señorita. We will take care of everything."
“I want the A-list guest to be invited. This time, Alejandro,” I address my father’s butler, who has been privy to our business for decades. “I want no talk of posturing and keeping certain members secret. I want the mafia dons, the local cops, the richest heirs and the goddamn politicians from all across the country present at the funeral. We have one message and it shall be delivered swiftly. We fear no one. When we call, the world arrives, enmity be damned as politicians and the men they previously imprisoned sit side by side. And when we find who did this, foes will join hands and help us bring them down. Are we clear? If anyone asks who is attending, be honest and then gently, remind them that the Torres heir will remember who showed up at her hour of need in Jalisco, Mexico.”
He nods briskly.
I manage a small, grateful smile. At least I do not have to shoulder this burden alone. My father's loyal staff will support me through this difficult transition. I make my way to my father's office, where just yesterday we shared our afternoon coffee and spoke of the future.
It still smells of his tobacco and cologne.
His ledger sits open on the desk, pages covered in his tidy script. I run my fingers over the ink, feeling closer to him.
"Do not worry, Papa," I whisper. "I will make you proud."
There is so much to learn about managing the crews, negotiating with suppliers, and distributing our product. But I will rise to the challenge. I am a Torres, after all.
I take a deep breath and walk over to the window overlooking the agave fields. The sun beats down on the blue-grey plants that will soon provide the lifeblood of our business.
This fertile valley has been in my family for generations. My ancestors built this empire from the ground up, through hard work and sacrifice. Now my father's spirit will join those who came before.
I blink back tears, leaning my forehead against the cool glass.
A soft knock at the door startles me from my thoughts. I turn to see Juanita, her eyes downcast.
"Pardon, señorita, but your father's lawyer is here. Alejandro sent for him. He asks to see you right away."
“Send him in,” I say, curtly.
“Señorita,” she whispers, but chokes back her words as she looks me up and down and averts her gaze.
“What is it, Juanita?” I ask, impatiently.
“Your clothes.”
I look down. I’m still drenched in blood. Bile rises to my throat. “Tell him I’ll join him shortly. Make him comfortable in the formal sitting room.”
