Ramira collapsed back into the chair, shaking violently.
Five years.
Five years believing her daughter had slept through the nightmare.
Five years never knowing the child had been carrying the truth alone.
Méndez’s mind was already racing through the legal consequences unfolding in front of him.
If the girl’s testimony was accurate, the entire investigation had been built on a manipulated timeline.
Mateo had placed Ramira at the scene while hiding his own presence.
And Ramira’s fingerprints on the knife suddenly made terrible sense.
“He forced me to pick it up,” Ramira whispered suddenly, remembering something she had buried under years of trauma. “He said if I didn’t, he would hurt Salomé.”
The colonel’s expression hardened.
Everything was beginning to connect.
Mateo had manipulated the crime scene before calling the police.
And the system had accepted his version because it matched the evidence.
Evidence he had arranged himself.
“Why are you telling this now?” the social worker asked Salomé, still trying to process what she was hearing.
