Because as I passed Diego, I paused for a moment.
I adjusted his coat as if fixing something.
And slipped the small device deeper into his pocket.
He didn’t notice.
But I did.
The faint click.
As I stepped outside the cemetery gates, my phone vibrated.
The signal was active.
That tiny movement…
would reveal everything.
I didn’t return home.
I couldn’t.
It was no longer mine.
Instead, I sat in a quiet café near Buenavista station, staring at my phone.
The vibration wasn’t random.
Inside Diego’s coat was a tracker.
One Eduardo had used during business trips.
I had taken it that morning without thinking too much.
Because deep down…
I knew something wasn’t right.
The app showed movement.
From the cemetery…
to the city center.
He wasn’t grieving.
He was moving forward.
I remembered something.
Eduardo’s office.
The safe hidden behind the painting.
And something else—
Weeks before he died, he had given me his email password.
And a number.
A safety deposit box.
“If anything strange happens,” he had said, “trust what I left outside the house.”
At the time, I thought he was being overly cautious.
