I stared at the photograph until Andrea touched my shoulder.

—Elena, what’s wrong?

I enlarged the image.

Lucas was entering my father’s old office carrying a black folder.

On the back, barely visible, were two words:

CASTILLO ARCHIVE.

My surname wasn’t Castillo.

Lucas’s was.

Another message arrived.

“Ask him why he met your father before he ever met you.”

My hands started shaking.

I called Lucas.

This time, he answered immediately.

—Elena, where are you?

—Why were you in my father’s office five years ago?

Silence.

The noise of the celebration disappeared from my mind.

—Answer me.

Lucas exhaled.

—Who sent you that photograph?

Not denial.

Not confusion.

He knew.

—You have thirty seconds.

—Your father hired me.

I froze.

—For what?

—To investigate someone stealing from his company.

That made no sense. My father had been a photographer.

At least, that’s what I’d always believed.

Lucas continued:

—His studio was only part of his work. He also authenticated documents, security footage and photographic evidence for private corporate investigations.

I felt sick.

—And you?

—Cybersecurity.

Then I understood something even worse.

—You didn’t meet me by accident.

Lucas said nothing.

That silence answered everything.

I hung up.

Andrea stared at me.

—Elena?

—Take me to my father’s apartment.

We arrived twenty minutes later.

The place had remained mostly untouched since his death.

I went directly to his office.

Behind an old cabinet were several boxes I’d never opened.

One was missing.

I knew because the dust outlined the exact rectangle where it had stood.

Someone had been there recently.

Then my phone rang.

Lucas.

I answered.

—Don’t touch anything.

—Why?

—Because whoever sent you those photographs wants you searching.

—And Valeria?

Another pause.

—Valeria was part of the same investigation.

I laughed bitterly.

—Those hotel pictures looked very investigative.

—They were staged.

I stopped.

Lucas explained that someone had been following him for months. The photographs with Valeria were supposed to make them appear like an ordinary couple.

—Then why didn’t you tell me?

—Because your father made me promise to keep you outside this.

—My father has been dead four years.

—The danger isn’t.

I looked at Andrea.

She had gone unusually quiet.

Then I remembered something.

My father’s old film camera.

I found it inside the bottom drawer.

There was still film inside.

I developed the negatives myself.

Most showed offices, financial documents and unfamiliar people.

Then one image made me stop.

Valeria.

Much younger.

Standing beside my father.

So Lucas had told at least part of the truth.

But the final negative was different.

My father was looking directly into the camera.

He held a handwritten sign.

“If Elena ever sees this, the operation has failed.”

Underneath:

“Do not trust the person who claims to have sent her these photographs.”

My phone vibrated immediately.

The anonymous account had sent another image.

This one had been taken minutes earlier.

Through the window of my father’s apartment.

I was visible inside.

So was Andrea.

The message underneath contained only six words:

“Good. Now you found the negatives.”

I spun toward the window.

Nobody was there.

Then I enlarged the photograph.

In the glass reflection, behind the person holding the camera, I saw part of a wrist.

A silver bracelet.

Three tiny stars hanging from it.

My breathing stopped.

I had photographed that bracelet hundreds of times.

I had even bought it as a birthday present.

I slowly turned toward Andrea.

Her sleeve was pulled down over her wrist.

—Andrea…

She looked at me.

—What?

—Show me your bracelet.

For the first time all night, my best friend didn’t move.

And then my phone received one final message.

“Don’t ask Andrea why she sent the photos.”

Another appeared immediately.

“Ask her what your father made her promise the night before he died.”