It was complicity.
I picked up my bag, held back my tears, and walked out.
In the hallway, shaking with anger, I dialed a number I had prayed I’d never need.
“Dad… it’s time.”
What they didn’t expect… was that the man who walked in next wasn’t there to calm things down.
He came to end it.
My father, Javier Herrera, was a respected former judge and one of the most powerful lawyers in the city. The Castillos knew exactly who he was—but they believed I would never involve him.
They were wrong.
Thirty minutes later, I was still in the hotel lobby when my father arrived—with a notary and a financial investigator.
They entered the room quietly.
But their presence hit harder than any shout.
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