Chapter 4: The Secret Teresa Wanted Buried
Armando read David's message three times before he trusted himself to look up.
Across the café table, Nico was carefully folding his napkin into a small square. Mrs. Flores was telling him that his mother would probably be asleep by the time they returned, and the boy was insisting that he wanted to wake her anyway.
He wanted to tell her everything.
The wallet. The money. The businessman who had promised to help.
For a moment, Armando envied the simplicity of that wish.
Then his phone vibrated again.
*David: Sir, Teresa instructed a private investigator to locate the boy's mother. He's been told to find out whether she has any outstanding debts or legal problems.*
Armando's fingers tightened around the phone.
He typed a response.
*Why?*
David answered almost immediately.
*I don't know yet. But the investigator mentioned an old property dispute connected to your late father.*
Armando went still.
His father had died eight years earlier, leaving behind the company, several properties, and a collection of documents Armando had never fully examined. The estate had been settled, or so he believed.
What could Nico's mother possibly have to do with it?
"Mr. Reyes?"" Nico asked.
Armando locked his phone.
"Yes, son?""
"Are you okay?""
The question caught him off guard.
"I'm fine.""
Nico tilted his head.
"You look like my mother when she gets bad news from the doctor.""
Mrs. Flores gave the boy a gentle nudge.
"Nico, don't interrogate the man.""
"I'm not interrogating him. I'm asking.""
Armando let out a breath that almost became a laugh.
"No, you're right. I do look worried.""
"Is somebody sick?""
"No. Not exactly.""
Nico studied him for another second.
"Sometimes grown-ups say they're fine because they don't want anyone to worry about them.""
Armando looked at the boy.
"Where did you learn that?""
"From my mother.""
The words struck him harder than Nico could have known.
Armando slipped his phone into his pocket.
"Come on. Let's get you home.""
The drive through the city took them past bright storefronts, crowded intersections, and buildings whose windows reflected the fading sunset. Nico sat in the back seat beside Mrs. Flores, looking out at the passing streets with an expression of quiet wonder.
He had never ridden in a car like this.
He kept his hands folded in his lap, afraid that touching anything might leave a mark.
"You don't have to sit so stiffly," Armando told him through the rearview mirror.
"It's a car, not a museum.""
Nico smiled shyly.
"I've never been in one this nice.""
"Then perhaps we should take a longer route.""
Mrs. Flores laughed.
"Don't encourage him. He'll start asking you for a limousine to school.""
"I wouldn't do that," Nico said.
Then he paused.
"Maybe just once.""
Even Armando laughed.
For several minutes, the car felt warm and ordinary.
Then they turned onto Nico's street.
The neighborhood was a collection of aging apartment buildings, corner shops, and narrow sidewalks crowded with parked cars. Laundry hung from balconies. A man pushed a cart of vegetables beneath a flickering streetlight.
Armando noticed the difference immediately.
Not because he had never seen poverty, but because he had spent years making sure he never had to look at it for long.
Nico leaned forward.
"That's our building.""
The apartment stood above a closed tailor shop. Paint peeled from the entrance, and a broken light fixture hung beside the door.
Armando instructed Marcus to stop.
"I'll walk you up," he said.
Nico hesitated.
"You don't have to, sir.""
"I know.""
They climbed two flights of stairs. The corridor smelled of detergent, old cooking oil, and damp concrete.
At the end, Nico stopped before a faded blue door.
"Mama?""
He knocked twice.
"It's me!""
A weak voice answered from inside.
"Come in, baby. The door's open.""
Nico pushed it inward.
The apartment was small enough for Armando to see nearly everything from the doorway. A narrow bed stood against one wall. A little kitchen occupied the opposite corner. A plastic table held medicine bottles, unpaid bills, and a photograph of a young woman holding a baby.
The woman in the photograph had the same dark eyes as Nico.
The woman in the bed looked older, thinner, and exhausted.
"Nico?"" she whispered.
He rushed to her side.
"Mama, I found him! I found Mr. Reyes!""
His mother struggled to sit up.
"Who?""
Armando stepped forward.
"Armando Reyes, ma'am. Your son found my wallet today. He went out of his way to return it.""
The woman's face changed.
She looked at Nico.
"You returned the money?""
"Of course, Mama.""
She reached for his hand and kissed his knuckles.
"I'm proud of you.""
Nico's smile wavered.
"I thought you would be.""
"I will always be proud of you for doing what's right.""
Armando stood silently, watching the exchange.
He had witnessed million-dollar deals finalized with handshakes and champagne. He had attended charity galas where wealthy people applauded themselves for writing checks.
Nothing he had seen that day moved him as much as a sick mother kissing her son's bruised hand.
Then the woman looked at him.
"Mr. Reyes, thank you for bringing him home. But I hope he hasn't caused you any trouble.""
"Quite the opposite," Armando replied.
"Your son has reminded me of something important.""
She gave a faint smile.
"Then he's done more than I expected.""
Armando approached the small table.
"I'd like to arrange a medical consultation for you. The best care we can reasonably provide, without asking you to pay upfront.""
The woman's expression tightened.
"Why?""
"Because your son returned something valuable to me, and I want to help.""
She shook her head.
"I appreciate your generosity, but I don't want my son to believe that honesty is a way to earn money.""
Armando felt the words settle over the room.
"I understand.""
"Let him do what's right because it's right. If you want to help us, help because you choose to.""
For the second time that evening, Armando found himself facing a woman who refused to let desperation erase her dignity.
He nodded.
"Then that's what I'll do.""
He reached for one of the medical papers on the table.
"May I see the doctor's name?""
The woman handed it to him.
Her name was Elena Alvarez.
Armando glanced at the document.
Then at her.
Then back at the document.
His face lost its color.
The address listed beneath her name was unfamiliar, but the surname was not the problem.
It was the handwritten note at the bottom.
*Previous employment: Reyes Estate, household staff.*
Armando looked up slowly.
"You worked for my family?""
Elena's fingers tightened around the blanket.
"Many years ago.""
"When?""
"About fifteen years ago.""
"Why didn't you say something?""
She turned her face toward Nico.
"Because I didn't think it mattered.""
Armando pulled a chair closer.
"Elena, I need you to tell me something. Did you know my father?""
The room fell silent.
Elena looked at him for a long time.
Then she nodded.
"I knew him very well.""
Armando's heartbeat quickened.
"What does that mean?""
Before Elena could answer, someone pounded on the apartment door.
Three sharp knocks.
Nico jumped.
Mrs. Flores, who had remained near the entrance, turned toward the hallway.
"Who is it?""
A man's voice came from outside.
"Open the door. We need to speak to Elena Alvarez.""
Elena's face turned white.
Armando stood.
"Who are you?""
The voice answered through the wood.
"Someone who knows what happened fifteen years ago.""
Elena grabbed Armando's sleeve.
"Please," she whispered.
"Don't let him take my son.""
May you like
Armando looked at her in shock.
Then the door handle began to turn.
