The men escorted me to the family residence in Sarrià, a home Tomás had always admired from a distance. A place my father rarely invited him into. At the time, I thought it was personal dislike.
Now, I knew it was protection.
The man seated across from me introduced himself as Gabriel Knox.
He carried himself with calm authority.
“Your father instructed us to remain discreet until today,” he said. “He wanted to be certain the timing was right.”
He handed me a black folder.
“This is for you.”
My hands trembled slightly as I opened it.
Inside were documents. Bank records. Property deeds in Barcelona, Málaga, and London. Corporate holdings. Accounts I had never seen. Assets I had never known existed.
And then there was a letter.
I unfolded it carefully.
“My dear Alexandra,
I know that for years you doubted your worth because someone taught you to. That was never your fault. Predators recognize kindness quickly, and Tomás did from the beginning.
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