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“There’s no proof of that,” he says.
“No proof of that?” I cry out. “No proof of that. A week ago, my father was shot dead right in front of my eyes and now I’m being threatened the same way. What more proof do you need?”
“Ma’am, it could be a prank. It could also be from another enemy. Someone who wants you out and is taking this chance to scare you. The possibilities are endless.”
I wring my hands. My father had trained me on what to do about the infamous laziness of the Mexican police. “When they don’t act, you must take matters into your own hands," Papa drilled into my head.
“Well,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm. “Would you please try to get to the bottom of this? And find my father’s killers?”
“Ma’am, your world is a dangerous one. Your father had powerful enemies. We will see what we can do but you must prepare yourself that there might never be any answers. Our hands are tied sometimes.”
I stare at the investigator and nod. There’s no point. I thank them without the slightest hint of genuineness and show them out. Then, I withdraw to think.
The funeral flowers still scent the air as I step into father's study. My head hurts. I just finished speaking with the investigators and they're taking it as a passive investigation. My father was killed by men he upset, they say. And in our circle, the suspect is usually too powerful to catch.You know how things are,they said to my face.
My heels clicked on the marble floors he loved. I trail my fingers over the mahogany desk where he planned each step that would expand his empire. I can't let his murder go unanswered. If the investigators plan to work slowly, then I will have to take matters into my own hands.
My father had many enemies, but I don't believe any of them would kill him. I've gone over each name and motive. No one was scorned enough for murder. My father was, after all, an honorable man.
I look outside the window, to where it all began, generations ago. The first Torres man who turned agave into tequila. Who built an empire from the earth. He cherished it and it was his religion.
Now it's my duty to protect that empire. But I don't know who to trust.
With a sigh, I sink into my father's leather chair. The creases still hold the shape of his body. I pull open the top drawer, to the false back he showed me when I was just ten. My fingers find the latch. Inside lies his journal. His real accounts. On the front cover, edged in 24 karat gold, his name. Diego Torres.
I flip through the pages, looking for clues - for secrets that may have led to his death. My eyes catch on one name: Clara Herrera. I skim through the entry. There's not much written here, except a few of his thoughts. He believes the apple can fall far from the tree, which means he thought she was nothing like her father. My father considered her worthy of his trust.
At the funeral, she took my hands in hers. Promised her loyalty. But can I believe her?
I turn to the computer on my father's desk. A quick search shows Clara's reputation is honorable. She's served her family faithfully for decades before becoming heir to the Jalisco Cartel. She's never betrayed a soul. She's turned foes to friends where there was no hope. There are rumors of her brilliance in crypto, hacking and software engineering. She's a part of an alleged network of anonymous hackers - an all women crew.
Perhaps I can trust her to help investigate my father's murder. She may be the ally I need for this job.
I picked up the phone to call Clara immediately. My heart pounds as the line rings. I must learn the truth about my father's death. Even if it puts my own life at risk. I take a deep breath as the line clicks and Clara's voice comes through.
"Miss Torres, how may I be of service?" she asks briskly.
"Clara, I...I need to speak with you. In person. It's urgent. And please, call me Isabella." My voice wavers slightly.
"Of course. I'll come right over."
"Thank you. I'll see you soon." I hang up, smoothing my hands over my skirt.
I chose the smaller parlor to meet, away from prying eyes. But as I pace the oriental rug, the door suddenly bursts open.
I gasp, my heart lurching. But it's only my cousin, Juan, striding in.
"Juan! You startled me," I say, pressing a hand to my chest.
"Lo siento, prima. I didn't mean to scare you," he says.
His eyes dart around the room suspicion.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
My instincts bristle, wondering if I can trust my own cousin.
"I came to check on you. Make sure you're okay."
