On the day of the funeral, the air was full of the smell of marigolds and damp earth. I was wearing black, with a thin scarf on my shoulders, and my son Diego was standing next to me, with a clenched jaw and a cold look. After Eduardo’s sudden death, he became different—distant and suspicious.
When the priest finished the service, people came up with condolences. Diego squeezed my hand and, without letting go, whispered that I was no longer part of the family. He snatched the envelope with the will from the notary’s briefcase and took the keys to the house. There were whispers around, and I just wanted to leave in silence.
As I passed by, I touched his coat and slipped a small device into it. No one noticed. Soon, the phone vibrated — the tracker, which Eduardo used on trips, gave a signal from the movement. The app showed the way from the cemetery to the city center.
I followed the signal from afar and saw Diego, notary Ramirez and Valeria’s business partner coming out of the notary office with documents. They returned to my house and entered it as if everything already belonged to them. I didn’t interfere, but went back to the cafe and logged into Eduardo’s mail.
There was a scheduled message for me indicating the 317 bank box. I found all the necessary evidence in the cell: documents, a USB flash drive, and a letter. In the video, Eduardo explained that they were trying to bribe him and that the fake will was part of a pre—planned scheme. He asked me not to sign anything and to fight.
I hired a lawyer, filed lawsuits, and froze my accounts. The forged will was suspended, and an investigation began. Two weeks later, I returned to the house not as a guest, but as the rightful owner, changed the locks and put the property in order. When Diego called in a rage, I calmly replied that he was being used.
I do not know what will happen to Diego next. Perhaps one day he will realize that he has confused power with love. That day at the funeral seemed like his victory, but the truth was already in my hands.
