Chapter 8 - The True Wealth
A year after the arrest, the Mendoza estate was host to a massive celebration. The courtyard was filled with tables covered in white linens, fresh fruit, and traditional Mexican dishes that Teresa had dictated from her old recipe books.
Over a hundred guests had gathered—local artisans, logistics workers, the legal team from Mexico City, and Officer Ramos, who sat proudly by the fountain drinking aged tequila.
Teresa sat at the head of the main table, her face radiant, her speech nearly fully recovered. She was no longer a victim hiding from the water; she was the matriarch of the valley, her presence commanding the room with love and grace.
Diego stood beside her, a glass of wine raised high into the air.
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"To my father, Hector, who built these walls," Diego announced, his voice ringing across the patio. "And to my mother, Teresa, who gave them a soul. We survived the storm, and today, the garden belongs to the people who planted the seeds."
The crowd erupted into cheers, the sound echoing through the cantera-stone hallways that would never again know the presence of a monster.
