The silence in the principal’s office was no longer heavy; it was suffocating. It was the kind of silence that precedes a landslide—quiet, yet vibrating with the force of the destruction about to follow.

What happened next was a blur of motion. The police entered, and for the first time, the “untouchable” Mateo Rivas was handcuffed in the hallway where he used to walk like a king. His mother screamed about lawyers and reputations, but her voice was drowned out by the clicking of metal.

Aunt Patricia didn’t scream. She went quiet, her eyes cold and distant as she was led away.

In the chaos, the principal walked over to me. She didn’t look like a stern authority figure anymore. She looked like a woman who had seen too much.

“Valeria,” she said softly. “The red folder… I didn’t get it from Lucia. I got it from Mateo’s father.”

I blinked, confused. “Mr. Rivas?”