“DON’T TOUCH HIM,” THEY WARNED YOU. YOU BOUGHT HIM ANYWAY… AND THAT NIGHT YOU LEARNED WHY MEN WOULD RATHER BURN THEIR SILVER THAN KEEP HIM CLOSE.

The next events move like dominos once the first is pushed. Government inspectors arrive at La Quebrada del Sol under the pretense of routine oversight, yet their eyes are too sharp for routine. They bring questions about contracts, labor records, and debts that were never disclosed to you. You feel the walls tightening, not around Nahuel, but around Baltasar, around the men who have been feeding off your husband’s estate. Anonymous denunciations are mentioned, paperwork that matches details only someone inside would know. You watch Baltasar’s face as the inspectors speak, and you see sweat form at his temples despite the morning breeze. He tries to charm them, tries to redirect attention toward Nahuel, tries to sell superstition as evidence. The lead inspector doesn’t even glance at Nahuel, which tells you something important: they’re not here for a scapegoat. They’re here for a network. When they ask for Aurelio’s signatures on certain documents, you recognize the slant of the ink and feel nausea rise. Some signatures look wrong, like they were forged by someone who knew his hand well.