Mercedes felt her legs turn to jelly. She stood up slowly, walking to the telephone as if it were a shrine. Her hand trembled as she picked up the receiver. "H-hello?" "Am I speaking with Mrs. Mercedes Álvarez?" asked a firm, professional male voice. "Yes, sir, this is she." "Hello, Mrs. Mercedes. This is Attorney Martín Esquivel from Notary Office 148. We've been looking for you for months. Thank God, a private investigator told us you were seen entering the church yesterday afternoon. I need you to come to my office today. It's urgent. It concerns the reading of the will of the late Don Esteban Romero."
Mercedes closed her eyes and a single tear rolled down her wrinkled cheek. It wasn't a dream. She wasn't crazy. He had kept his promise. "Yes, sir. I'm on my way." She hung up the phone and looked up at the ceiling, where a ray of sunlight streamed through a high window. "Thank you..." she whispered, her voice breaking. "Thank you, Dad."
CHAPTER 4: THE SCALES OF JUSTICE
While Mercedes was taking a taxi that Father Tomás paid for ("It's an investment of faith, mother," he had told her, winking at her), on the other side of the city, hell was breaking loose in the life of Rodrigo Salazar.
Rodrigo was in his office in Santa Fe, a glass skyscraper with a panoramic view of the entire city. But today, the view meant nothing to him. He was sweating profusely, loosening the Hermès tie that felt like a noose around his neck. "What do you mean, 'frozen'?" he yelled into the phone. "I'm Rodrigo Salazar! I have millions of dollars in investments! You can't do this to me!"
