Father Castillo did not deny it.
That frightened me more than if he had shouted.
He stood beside the parish safe with his hands folded over the black fabric at his waist, staring at his own name on Daniel’s letter.
Roger moved first.
He stepped between the priest and me.
“Explain.”
Father Castillo lifted his eyes.
“I can.”
“Then start.”
His face had gone gray.
“I knew Daniel suspected me.”
Roger’s voice hardened.
“That isn’t a start.”
Isabel closed the envelope and held it against her chest.
Father Castillo looked toward the empty pews.
The church was quiet except for the faint hum of the air-conditioning and traffic passing outside.
“I was not a priest when this began.”
I frowned.
“What were you?”
“A seminarian.”
“That changes nothing.”
“No.”
He accepted that.
“I met Mariana before she married Daniel.”
Arthur, who had followed us from the newsroom despite everyone’s objections, stiffened.
“Where?”
“At the Aranda house.”
Father Castillo looked at him.
“You don’t remember me.”
Arthur stared.
Then something shifted.
“Mateo.”
The priest closed his eyes.
Roger looked between them.
“Mateo?”
“My first name.”
Arthur stepped closer.
“You worked for Eduardo.”
“I worked for Celeste.”
Isabel’s head lifted.
“My grandmother?”
“Yes.”
Father Castillo sat in the nearest pew.
Suddenly he looked older than I had ever seen him.
“Celeste funded my seminary education. My father maintained the grounds at the Aranda estate. My mother worked in the kitchen. I grew up around that house.”
Another child raised in the orbit of the Arandas.
Like Patricia.
Like Lucía.
Like Arthur.
Power did not merely employ people.
It absorbed their families.
I asked, “How did you help Lucía?”
Father Castillo’s head snapped toward me.
“I did not know I was helping her.”
Roger laughed bitterly.
“That sentence is getting popular.”
The priest took the blow.
“Daniel suspected someone was passing information about your family. He was right.”
“You.”
“Yes.”
My chest tightened.
“What did you tell them?”
“Schedules.”
“Whose?”
“Mariana’s.”
I stared.
“She trusted you.”
“I know.”
“You knew where she went. When she went to church. When she took us to school.”
“Yes.”
“And you gave that to Lucía.”
“I gave it to Valeria.”
The distinction barely mattered.
Father Castillo continued before I could interrupt.
“Valeria contacted me after Daniel began investigating Celeste’s death. She said Mariana was in danger.”
“And you believed her?”
“I knew Camila was dangerous. I knew Eduardo could be ruthless. Valeria told me she needed Mariana’s movements so she could warn her if anyone approached.”
Arthur said, “Valeria manipulated you.”
Father Castillo looked at him.
“So did your family for most of my childhood.”
Arthur had no answer.
Roger pointed toward Dad’s letter.
“He knew.”
“Eventually.”
“What gave you away?”
“A school fundraiser.”
I remembered the forged letters.
One had mentioned Mom’s church fundraiser.
Father Castillo continued.
“Mariana told me Elena would be performing. I told Valeria because I thought she was monitoring possible threats.”
My stomach turned.
“Then the fake letter mentioned it.”
“Yes.”
“Dad realized the information came from you.”
“Yes.”
“Did he confront you?”
Father Castillo looked at the altar.
“Two days before he died.”
Roger’s jaw tightened.
“What did he say?”
“That if anything happened to his family, he would expose me.”
“Did you tell Lucía?”
“No.”
“Valeria?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
Roger surged forward.
Arthur caught him.
Father Castillo did not move.
“You told Valeria Dad had discovered you.”
“Yes.”
“And then Dad died.”
“Yes.”
“You expect us to believe you weren’t involved?”
Father Castillo finally raised his voice.
“I have spent eighteen years asking myself whether my phone call killed him.”
The church swallowed the echo.
He lowered his head.
“I told Valeria that Daniel had found the leak. I thought she would disappear. Instead Daniel was dead forty-eight hours later.”
I looked at the letter.
Dad had named Father Castillo because he knew the priest was leaking information.
But perhaps he had not known where that information ultimately went.
“Why did Mom keep trusting you?”
“She didn’t.”
That surprised me.
Father Castillo continued.
“Not at first.”
“When did she learn?”
“After Daniel died.”
“How?”
“I told her.”
Roger laughed incredulously.
“You confessed?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel was dead.”
The priest looked at him.
“And because I loved him.”
Roger stopped.
Father Castillo’s eyes filled.
“Not romantically. He was my friend.”
He smiled faintly.
“He repaired my first car for free and then insulted the car for twenty minutes.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
That was Dad.
“He helped my father when he became sick. He never cared that my family worked for people richer than us. Daniel had a talent for making class distinctions seem ridiculous.”
Arthur looked away.
Father Castillo continued.
“When he died, I understood what my cowardice had purchased.”
The word struck me.
Cowardice.
Arthur’s.
Eduardo’s.
Father Castillo’s.
So many people had convinced themselves silence was protection.
Mom had done it too.
I had begun to understand why.
That did not make it harmless.
“What did Mom do when you confessed?”
“She slapped me.”
Roger gave a tiny nod.
“Good.”
“Then she made me tell her everything.”
“Why didn’t she turn you in?”
“Because I agreed to help her.”
“With what?”
Father Castillo looked at the envelope.
“Finding Lucía.”
The church seemed to change around us.
For eighteen years, Mom and Father Castillo had not simply been protecting a secret.
They had been investigating.
“She knew Lucía killed Dad.”
“She believed it.”
“And you helped track her.”
“Yes.”
“Did you find her?”
“Several times.”
“Why didn’t you go to police?”
“Because each time we got close, evidence appeared implicating Roger.”
My brother looked exhausted.
Father Castillo continued.
“Bank transfers. Emails. Insurance records. Documents showing Roger communicating with Mercer.”
“I never did.”
“I know.”
“Mom knew?”
“Eventually.”
Father Castillo looked at him.
“She spent years proving the documents were forged.”
Roger sat in a pew.
“She never told me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because she thought you would confront Martin.”
“She was right.”
“She thought you would get yourself killed.”
Roger almost smiled.
“She was probably right about that too.”
I sat beside him.
Father Castillo reached inside his jacket and removed a small notebook.
“Mariana gave me this six months ago.”
He handed it to me.
Mom’s handwriting filled the pages.
Dates.
License plates.
Prescription numbers.
Names.
V.A.R.
L.R.
M.K.
A.M.
Arthur frowned.
“A.M.?”
Miguel, who had remained near the church entrance with two detectives, stepped forward.
“Aranda Memorial?”
Father Castillo nodded.
Mom had mapped the network.
Valeria.
Lucía.
Martin.
The hospital.
The final pages contained newer entries.
Someone had been watching her again.
A silver sedan.
A woman outside Hillcrest Pharmacy.
Electronic prescriptions she never requested.
One line was circled.
Lucía is back in Texas.
My chest tightened.
Below it:
She wants the trust opened before I die.
Why?
Isabel sat beside me.
“Because your mother’s death activates the inheritance.”
Roger looked at her.
“So Lucía wanted Mom dead for money?”
“Maybe.”
Arthur shook his head.
“Lucía isn’t a beneficiary.”
“Neither is Valeria,” Isabel said.
“But if the children are discredited?”
Miguel took the notebook.
“The trust could be challenged.”
Arthur’s expression changed.
“By Mariana’s surviving sibling.”
Valeria.
If Mom’s descendants failed the trust conditions or were legally disqualified, Valeria might have a claim.
Eighteen million dollars.
Maybe more now.
I hated how money kept appearing beside every act of cruelty.
Father Castillo said, “Mariana did not believe money was the main reason.”
“What did she believe?”
“That Lucía wanted Isabel to publicly reject her.”
Isabel stared.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Father Castillo looked toward Arthur.
“Because Lucía grew up hearing that Mariana had everything Valeria lost.”
Arthur closed his eyes.
“Valeria blamed Mariana.”
“For what?”
“For Gabriel’s death. Her exile. Eduardo’s rejection. Everything.”
Isabel whispered, “And Lucía inherited it.”
“Hatred can be inherited more easily than money.”
Nobody responded.
Father Castillo pointed toward the notebook.
“There is an address on the final page.”
I turned.
A rural property outside Fredericksburg.
“What is it?”
“Mariana believed Lucía was living there.”
Miguel checked his phone.
“The property belongs to VAR Clinical Services.”
There it was.
Police prepared a warrant.
We waited at the church.
Roger paced.
Isabel read Mom’s notebook.
Arthur sat alone.
Father Castillo knelt near the altar, though I could not tell whether he was praying.
Three hours later, Miguel received a call.
Police had entered the property.
No Lucía.
But they found a private records room.
Medical files.
Photographs.
Surveillance equipment.
Copies of our family documents.
And something else.
Miguel listened.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He lowered the phone.
“They found video recordings.”
“Of what?”
“Your mother.”
My stomach dropped.
“When?”
“Recent.”
“How recent?”
Miguel swallowed.
“The night she died.”
The room went silent.
He continued.
“Lucía was inside Theresa’s house.”
Mrs. Hernandez had seen the car.
Now we had proof.
Roger whispered, “Did she kill her?”
Miguel looked at me.
“The video shows your mother letting Lucía in.”
That hurt in a different way.
Mom had known her.
Expected her.
Perhaps trusted her enough to open the door.
“What happens next?”
“There’s no recording of what happened inside.”
I closed my eyes.
Then Miguel added:
“But there is audio.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 18: The Recording From Mom’s Final Night Revealed Why Lucía Returned, and Her Own Words Proved My Mother Had Set One Last Trap
My Mother’s Funeral Should Have Ended the Questions, but One Missing Sweater Thread Led Me Back to Everything She Hid
Part 17 of 24
