-I didn't know.
—You already said that.
—And it's true.
Adrian clutched the letter between his fingers.
—I grew up thinking that my father knew perfectly well where we were and simply didn't want to come.
Gabriel swallowed hard.
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He could buy hotels, buildings, and land without hesitation.
He could sit in front of investors and discuss enormous figures without his voice trembling.
But he could not defend himself against that statement because he understood that, for Adrián, nineteen years of absence weighed more than any explanation uttered in an afternoon.
"I'm not going to ask you to believe me today," Gabriel said. "I'm only asking you not to destroy that letter."
Isabel looked at him suspiciously.
-So that?
Gabriel pointed to the envelope he was still holding.
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—Because I supposedly wrote the first letter. My mother wrote this one. If they're both part of the same thing, I want
to understand how he did it.
Adrian let out a dry laugh.
