PART 6 — The Ledger Everyone Wanted
The pounding on the front door grew harder.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
The old wooden frame shook violently.
Dust drifted from the ceiling.
Clara instinctively stepped backward, both hands wrapped protectively around her pregnant belly.
Victor moved in front of her.
"Stay behind me."
"They can't force their way in without exposing themselves."
Outside, the deep voice spoke again.
"Mrs. Mendoza!"
"We're representatives of the Salgado Estate."
"We'd like to discuss the Navarro property."
Victor let out a bitter laugh.
"They're lying already."
The knocking finally stopped.
Silence settled over the house.
Only the rumble of idling engines remained.
Clara carefully peeked through the curtain.
Four men stood outside.
All dressed in expensive dark suits.
One older gentleman leaned casually against a black SUV.
Unlike the others, he wasn't impatient.
He simply smiled toward the house.
As though he already knew he would eventually get what he wanted.
Victor's face hardened.
"I know him."
"Who is he?"
"Arturo Salgado."
"The son of the man who destroyed Miguel."
Clara looked again.
Arturo appeared calm.
Confident.
Dangerously patient.
After nearly five minutes, the men returned to their vehicles.
One by one, the SUVs pulled away into the darkness.
Clara released the breath she had been holding.
"They're gone."
Victor shook his head.
"No."
"They're waiting."
"They know you won't sleep tonight."
"They want fear to do their work."
Neither of them slept.
Victor remained in the living room beside the fireplace with an old hunting rifle he kept in his truck.
It hadn't been fired in years.
He prayed it wouldn't be tonight.
Clara sat at the kitchen table rereading Elena's letter.
One sentence refused to leave her mind.
'Miguel documented every transaction.'
If the treasure was here...
Then somewhere...
The missing ledger had to be here too.
Without it, proving the jewels belonged to other families would be almost impossible.
Without it...
Arturo could simply claim everything.
At sunrise, Victor climbed back into the attic.
This time they searched every inch.
They emptied every trunk.
Removed loose floorboards.
Examined every beam.
Hours passed.
Nothing.
By early afternoon, Clara sat exhausted against the wall.
"Maybe the ledger really is gone."
Victor didn't answer.
He stared instead at the large oil painting of the woman in the blue dress.
Something about it bothered him.
Slowly...
He walked toward it.
"This wasn't here."
Clara frowned.
"What?"
"The frame."
Victor ran his fingers across the carved wood.
"Miguel built furniture."
"He hated decorative carvings."
"This frame..."
"...isn't his work."
He carefully lifted the painting from the floor.
Then turned it around.
The back looked ordinary.
Until Victor noticed four tiny brass screws hidden beneath old varnish.
He smiled.
"Clever."
Using an old screwdriver, he removed the screws one by one.
The wooden backing loosened.
Then...
It fell away.
Inside the frame rested a narrow leather notebook wrapped in oilcloth.
Clara gasped.
"The ledger..."
Victor carefully picked it up.
"It survived."
He slowly opened the first page.
Neat handwriting filled every line.
Dates.
Addresses.
Bank account numbers.
Shipping routes.
Names.
Hundreds of names.
Some belonged to jewel merchants.
Others belonged to judges.
Police officers.
Politicians.
Victor's hands began shaking.
"My God..."
"This wasn't just jewelry theft."
Clara looked over his shoulder.
"It was an entire criminal network."
Victor nodded.
"Miguel uncovered everything."
"No wonder they killed him."
Suddenly...
A folded newspaper clipping slipped from between the pages.
Clara picked it up.
The headline was fifteen years old.
LOCAL JEWELER DIES IN APPARENT ROBBERY
Beneath the article someone had written two words in blue ink.
They lied.
The handwriting belonged to Elena.
Several more documents fell onto the floor.
Old photographs.
Copies of bank transfers.
Property records.
Then one final envelope.
Across the front Miguel himself had written:
If the ledger is ever found...
Victor slowly opened it.
Inside rested a signed confession.
Not Miguel's.
One of the smugglers'.
The man admitted everything.
Every theft.
Every bribe.
Every murder.
He had intended to testify.
But according to the newspaper clipping...
He died two days later in what authorities called a car accident.
Victor looked at Clara.
"That's no accident."
She nodded.
"They silenced him."
A loud engine suddenly echoed outside.
Then another.
Victor hurried to the attic window.
His expression changed instantly.
"They're back."
This time there were six SUVs.
Not four.
More than a dozen men stepped out.
Arturo Salgado remained beside his vehicle.
Only this time...
He wasn't smiling.
He looked directly toward the attic window.
As though he knew exactly where they were standing.
Then he slowly raised one hand.
And pointed...
Straight at the painting.
Victor's blood ran cold.
"He knows."
Clara whispered,
"How?"
Victor didn't answer.
Because at that exact moment...
Someone knocked softly on the back door.
Not the front.
The back.
Three quiet knocks.
Very different from before.
Clara and Victor exchanged nervous glances.
Then a familiar elderly voice whispered from outside.
"Clara..."
"It’s Rosa."
"Whatever you do..."
May you like
"Don't let them find the ledger."
End of Part 6
