Chapter 5: The Archive
The words followed me through the chaos.
They had found the archive.
I didn't know what the archive was, but I knew what it meant from the way Vargas reacted.
His face lost every trace of color.
“Where?”” he demanded.
The driver kept his eyes on the road.
“Tomas said they found it at the old port.””
Vargas swore under his breath.
I lifted my head from beneath the seat.
“What is the archive?””
“Stay down.””
“No.””
“Aurelio.””
“You keep telling me to hide while everyone else talks about my family.””
He looked at me sharply.
“This is not the time.””
“When will it be?””
Before he could answer, the SUV made a hard turn.
We left the main road and entered a narrow street between warehouses.
The city blurred past the windows.
Vargas pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against his arm. There was finally blood on his sleeve, just below the elbow.
“You're hurt.””
“I said it's nothing.””
“You're bleeding.””
He looked at me.
“Your grandmother used to say the same thing.””
I stared at him.
“You really knew her.””
His eyes lowered.
“Better than you think.””
“Then tell me the truth.””
He remained silent.
I leaned forward.
“What did she leave behind?””
Vargas looked toward the driver.
“Take the south road.””
The driver obeyed.
Then Vargas turned to me.
“Twenty-three years ago, there was a ledger.””
“A ledger?””
“Not just a book. A collection of names, accounts, payments, photographs, shipment records, and secrets.””
“Whose secrets?””
“Men powerful enough to destroy a city.””
I thought about my grandmother's tiny room.
The leaking roof.
The cracked table.
The secondhand plates.
How could someone like her possess information important enough to frighten men like Vargas?
“What did she do with it?””
“She split it into pieces.””
“How many?””
“Five.””
“Where?””
Vargas looked away.
“I only know where one piece was hidden.””
I remembered the metal box.
“Did my grandmother give you something?””
“No.””
“Then why did you say she kept things from you?””
“Because she did.””
He paused.
“She trusted me with the wrong things.””
The SUV slowed as we approached the waterfront.
I recognized the warehouses.
The old port.
My grandmother had warned me never to come here.
Never.
Not even during the daytime.
Vargas noticed me staring.
“Have you been here before?””
“No.””
“Good.””
The driver stopped behind a derelict warehouse.
The engine remained running.
Vargas looked through the windshield.
Three men were waiting near the side entrance.
Tomas was not among them.
“Who are they?”” I asked.
“Mine.””
“How do you know they aren't my father's?””
Vargas glanced at me.
“Because they're afraid of me.””
I wasn't sure whether that was supposed to reassure me.
He opened the door.
“Stay beside me.””
I climbed out.
The port smelled like salt, diesel, and rust.
The ocean was only a few hundred yards away, but everything around us felt dead.
No ships.
No workers.
No traffic.
Just warehouses with broken windows.
We entered through a steel door.
Inside, the air was cold.
A single bulb flickered above us.
One of Vargas's men approached.
“Boss.””
“What happened?””
“They found the entrance.””
“Where?””
“Below.””
Vargas nodded.
“Any survivors?””
“One.””
“Bring him.””
The man disappeared.
I followed Vargas deeper into the warehouse.
We descended a narrow staircase.
At the bottom was a concrete corridor.
I couldn't understand how such a place could exist beneath the port.
Then I saw the wall.
Carved into the concrete was the same symbol from my mother's pendant.
A bird with one broken wing.
I touched the pendant.
“What is this?””
Vargas stopped.
“That symbol means the archive is near.””
We continued.
At the end of the corridor was a steel door.
It had been forced open.
Inside was a room filled with shelves.
Most were empty.
Documents lay scattered across the floor.
A safe had been ripped from the wall.
Someone had been searching for something.
I looked around.
“This is it?””
“No.””
Vargas moved toward a table.
“This was only the first layer.””
A man's groan came from the corner.
One of Vargas's guards dragged someone into the room.
The man was bleeding from the forehead.
He looked terrified.
Vargas crouched in front of him.
“Who sent you?””
The man shook his head.
“I don't know.””
Vargas grabbed his collar.
“Who sent you?””
“I was paid.””
“By whom?””
The man stared at me.
Then his face changed.
“You're the boy.””
I stepped backward.
“How do you know me?””
He didn't answer.
Vargas tightened his grip.
“Answer him.””
The man swallowed.
“Gabriel.””
My stomach dropped.
“He told us to find the boy.””
“Why?””
“Because the boy knows where the last key is.””
I stared at him.
“I don't know any key.””
The man laughed weakly.
“Your grandmother gave it to you.””
“No.””
“She did.””
“I would've known.””
“Not if she made you promise not to look.””
I froze.
My grandmother had made me promise something.
A memory surfaced.
Three days before she died, she'd handed me a small wooden box.
She'd told me never to open it until I was eighteen.
I had forgotten it because, after she died, the landlord threw away most of our belongings before I could collect them.
Or so I thought.
“What box?”” Vargas asked.
I didn't answer.
“Aurelio.””
I looked at him.
“I remember something.””
The man on the floor smiled.
“What?””
“A wooden box.””
Vargas stood.
“Where is it?””
“I don't know.””
The wounded man laughed again.
“You do.””
“No, I don't.””
“You carried it.””
My pulse raced.
“I carried it?””
“When you left your grandmother's apartment.””
“I never left with a box.””
“You did.””
He looked directly at me.
“She hid it inside your clothes.””
A memory struck me.
The first night after my grandmother died.
I had been carrying a small wooden box against my chest while sleeping behind the church.
I remembered waking to find it missing.
I thought someone had stolen it.
But now another memory surfaced.
A priest finding me that morning.
A wooden box sitting beside me.
Then the priest telling me it wasn't mine.
He had put it in the church office.
I had never gone back.
Vargas watched my face.
“You remembered something.””
“The church.””
“What church?””
“Saint Miguel.””
One of the guards immediately pulled out his phone.
Vargas stopped him.
“No calls.””
He looked at the map in the man's hand.
“Too obvious.””
The wounded man suddenly moved.
He pulled a small knife from his waistband.
Vargas reacted instantly.
He caught the man's wrist and slammed it against the floor.
The knife skidded away.
The man screamed.
I jumped.
Vargas didn't even blink.
“Take him upstairs.””
Two guards dragged the man away.
I stared at Vargas.
“You almost killed him.””
“He knows where the key is.””
“You could have asked.””
“I did.””
“You scared him.””
“That was the point.””
I looked away.
The room suddenly felt unbearable.
“I don't want to become like you.””
Vargas went still.
For a moment I thought he would be angry.
Instead, he said quietly, “Neither did I.””
I looked at him.
“What happened?””
“Your grandmother happened.””
He walked toward the shelves.
“She reminded me there was a person underneath all of this.””
“All of what?””
“The money. The violence. The power.””
He touched an empty shelf.
“I became the man people feared because I thought fear was the only language criminals understood.””
“And my grandmother disagreed?””
“She said fear could control a person.””
He looked at me.
“But loyalty could change one.””
I didn't know what to say.
Then we heard footsteps above us.
Fast.
Many.
Vargas's guards immediately raised their guns.
“Boss.””
A voice shouted from the staircase.
“They're here!””
Vargas turned.
“How many?””
“More than twenty.””
“Gabriel?””
“We don't know.””
Vargas looked at me.
“We leave now.””
We rushed into the corridor.
Gunfire erupted upstairs.
Bullets struck the concrete around us.
Vargas pushed me behind him.
“Run!””
We sprinted through the corridor.
At the top of the stairs, one of Vargas's guards fell.
Blood spread across his shirt.
I stopped.
Vargas grabbed me.
“Don't stop.””
“But—”
“He's already gone.””
We reached the warehouse floor.
Men were moving between crates.
Muzzle flashes lit the darkness.
A voice shouted from somewhere near the loading bay.
“Vargas!””
Vargas stopped.
I recognized the voice.
My father.
Gabriel.
He stepped into view.
He was taller than I expected.
Gray touched his dark hair.
His face was calm.
Almost ordinary.
That frightened me more than anything.
He looked at Vargas first.
Then at me.
His eyes stayed on me for several seconds.
“Aurelio.””
I couldn't move.
Gabriel smiled.
Not warmly.
Not cruelly.
Almost sadly.
“You look exactly like your mother.””
Vargas raised his gun.
“Stay away from him.””
Gabriel looked amused.
“You still think he's yours to protect?””
“He isn't yours.””
Gabriel's gaze returned to me.
“Your grandmother told you that too, didn't she?””
I swallowed.
“She told me to stay away from you.””
“She also told you not to trust Vargas.””
I looked between the two men.
Neither spoke.
Gabriel slowly reached into his coat.
Every guard raised a weapon.
Instead of a gun, he pulled out a photograph.
He held it toward me.
It showed my grandmother.
And my mother.
And another person.
A young Mateo Vargas.
They were standing outside a hospital.
My mother held a newborn baby.
Me.
But there was something else written across the bottom of the photograph.
A date.
The date I was born.
And beneath it, in my grandmother's handwriting, were seven words.
Mateo knows what really happened that night.
I looked at Vargas.
His face had become stone.
Gabriel smiled.
“You want the truth, Aurelio?””
I couldn't speak.
Gabriel's smile disappeared.
“Ask Mateo why your mother screamed his name before she disappeared.””
The warehouse went silent.
Vargas lowered his gun.
Just slightly.
But enough for me to notice.
Gabriel took one step backward.
“This isn't over.””
Then the lights went out.
Gunfire exploded again.
Someone grabbed my wrist.
I screamed.
May you like
A cloth covered my mouth.
And the last thing I heard before darkness swallowed me was Vargas shouting my name.
