The building was quiet in the way that only abandoned places can be. The kind of silence that feels heavy, like the air itself has settled. But the mesquite tree was still standing at the edge of the property, older and wider than it had appeared in the photograph.
She followed its shadow.
Three steps north. Seven steps east.
She stopped.
The ground beneath her feet sounded hollow when she pressed on it. Her heart was beating fast as she crouched down and found the edge of a concrete slab that had been set loosely in the soil.
She pried it open.
Inside was a small metal box.
Inside the metal box were three things: a handwritten letter, a notebook with worn edges, and a small key.
What the Letter Said
The letter was from Alejandro’s mother.
She wrote clearly and without decoration. She had discovered, through a family connection she could not name safely, that someone inside the company was passing confidential information to outside competitors. Client lists. Pricing strategies. Internal development plans.
She had been afraid to tell her son directly. She did not know who could be trusted, or whether conversations were being monitored. So she had done the only thing she could think of.
She had hidden the truth inside the jars she made with her own hands.
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