Celia shoved me into the dark passage behind the hidden door. “The truck keys start the vehicle at the end of the tunnel. Drive to the marina in San Carlos. The envelope has the coordinates and the codes to the vault.”
“Celia, come with me!” I pleaded, holding the heavy steel door open.
“If I come, they’ll track us both,” she said, giving me a look of fierce, maternal love that mirrored the mother I had lost a decade ago. “I’ve lived sixty years carrying this debt. Tonight, I pay it off.”
She slammed the door shut from the outside. I heard the deadbolt lock into place, followed by the heavy thud of furniture being dragged in front of the entry.
I raced down the damp, stone tunnel, my heart hammering against my ribs. Behind me, through the reinforced steel door, the muffled sounds of shouting and shattering glass echoed down the corridor, followed by a tense, heavy silence.
When I burst out of the tunnel into the cold night air, the black pickup truck was waiting under a canopy of trees. I threw myself into the driver’s seat, slotted the key into the ignition, and tore down the dirt road away from the burning hacienda.
As I looked in the rearview mirror, watching the smoke rise against the moonlit sky, I ripped open the thick envelope Celia had given me.
Inside wasn’t just money or coordinates. Nestled at the bottom was a small silver locket containing a photograph of my real mother holding me, and a handwritten note from Celia:
“You were never crazy, Efraín. You were just loved by women who would burn the world to keep you safe. Now go take back what belongs to you.”
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