PART 1
The morning Abril saved Santiago Robles’ life, he was only three steps away from getting into the car that would make him disappear forever.
Santiago had just walked out of his mansion in Lomas de Chapultepec, dressed in a perfect suit, his phone vibrating in one hand and his keys in the other.
He had a flight to Monterrey.
A million-dollar meeting.
And one dangerous habit:
He never looked at anyone when he was running late.
That was when he felt a small hand grab his sleeve.
“Don’t talk, sir,” a girl whispered. “Follow me.”
Santiago looked down.
It was Abril.
She was the 12-year-old daughter of Tomás, the gardener who had spent years caring for the roses, bougainvillea, and greenhouse on the property.
Her hair was tied back with a red band.
Her face was pale.
And her eyes carried a kind of fear no child should have.
“Abril, not now,” Santiago said. “I’m late.”
“Please,” she whispered. “Don’t let them see you.”
Santiago frowned.
“Who?”
But Abril was already pulling him toward the side of the driveway, behind a row of large clay pots.
Santiago almost snapped at her.
But something in her voice made him crouch down.
From there, he could see the front gate.
A black sedan was waiting outside with the engine running.
The driver stood beside the back door.
“That’s not your driver,” Abril whispered.
Santiago stared at her.
“Of course he is. He’s been with me for almost three years.”
Abril shook her head.
“No, sir. Your driver always opens the door with his right hand because he keeps the keys in his left. I see him every week. That man opened it with his left hand.”
Then she pointed toward the car.
“And the license plate isn’t the same. They changed one number.”
Santiago looked closer.
The car was identical.
Black.
Shiny.
Expensive.
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