“Hello?” Camila whispered, fear chilling her blood. “Is someone in there?”
No answer came. Only the oppressive silence of the mansion.
But she knew. Something alive was inside.
The trunk was secured with a rusted brass lock. It looked impossible to open without tools. Just as she was about to stand up and run, her eyes landed on a small side table nearby, covered with yellowed books on property law and ancient wills.
And there—catching a thin beam of light slipping through a gap in the curtain—lay a key.
Small. Polished. As if it had been placed there recently.
Doubt flooded her mind. If Lawyer Damián found out she’d opened the trunk, she would lose her job. She would lose the money her sister depended on.
But the sound she’d heard was human.
Her hands trembled as she slid the key into the lock. The mechanism gave way with a sharp click that echoed through the room like a gunshot.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, whispering a silent apology to any god who might be listening, and lifted the lid just a few inches.
Darkness met dim light.
What she saw was not a monster.
It was three pairs of eyes.
Three small, pale, skeletal faces stared back at her—covered in dust, filled with terror and desperation.
They were children.
Triplets, judging by how alike they looked. Curled together beneath a filthy blanket, clinging to one another for warmth.
One of them—a boy with brown hair—slowly raised a trembling hand toward her.
“Please… we’re hungry,” he whispered, his voice barely holding together.
The horror struck Camila like lightning.
Mr. Montenegro—the millionaire—had locked them inside.
Why?
What kind of man did this?
She opened the trunk fully, letting the light pour in. The children were far too small for their age—probably five or six years old—though malnutrition made them look even younger.
“Who are you?” Camila asked softly, dropping to her knees beside the trunk. “Why are you here?”
The little girl, her wide eyes shaking with fear, answered, “We’re Esteban, Lucía, and Mateo. Daddy said it was a game… but we’ve been playing for a very long time.”
Daddy.
Mr. Montenegro.
Before Camila could ask anything else, the sound of polished leather shoes echoed through the main hallway.
Lawyer Damián Gaviria was coming back.
THE WILL AND THE LAWYER’S BETRAYAL