I look down at the necklace, confused. It’s the same necklace I’ve been wearing for months—the last thing my father left me. The pendant is small and simple, shaped like a delicate teardrop, with faint, intricate etchings along its surface. It always seemed decorative, but now Maria’s expression tells me it’s more than that.
“Wait, this is the key?” I ask, my pulse quickening. “How did you even know?”
Maria smirks. “Your dad told me once—well, sort of. Remember when we were kids, and he was always working on his little projects, hiding things around the house? I asked him why he never just used regular locks, and he laughed and said, ‘Locks are too easy. Real secrets hide in plain sight.’ He never directly said this was a key, but when I saw that necklace around your neck, something clicked. It looks like a pendant, but it has that hidden quality your dad was obsessed with. I had a feeling it was a key to something—I just didn’t know what.”
I frown. “But it doesn’t even look like a key.”
Maria holds the pendant up, turning it in the light.
“Exactly. Your dad loved puzzles, right? He probably made it look like something ordinary so no one would suspect. See these tiny ridges along the side?” She taps the pendant, revealing the delicate notches etched into its edge. “It’s meant to fit into something more intricate—like the lock on that journal.”
I stare at her, feeling like an idiot. “Oh my God,” I groan. “I’ve been walking around with this key the whole time.”
“Yeah, you have.” Maria laughs. “Try it.”
I unclip the necklace from my neck, my pulse quickening. The pendant feels heavier now, its significance suddenly clear. My hands tremble as I grab the journal, the lock small but intricate, just like Maria said. I line up the pendant’s notches with the lock’s grooves and hesitate. I turn to Maria, who’s staring intently at the journal.
“Turn it, stupid,” she shouts, growing impatient.
“All right, damn. I was trying to have a moment,” I murmur.
I give it a gentle twist. There’s a soft click, and the journal springs open.
Chapter Eight
As I finish getting dressed for the first dinner tonight, my heart is still racing. The journal. I finally opened it—after all this time. My father’s secrets, his stories, everything I’ve been waiting for are right here, just beneath the cover. I stare at the open pages for a moment, feeling the weight of it all. This is it.
But before I can dive in, a vibration on my wrist snaps me out of the moment. It’s an automatic email notification that La Mariposa’s revenue report is ready to be viewed.That’s right. It’s the beginning of the month. Oh, God. The report.I quickly reach for my phone, which is lying peacefully on the dresser. I unlock the screen, and the report is there, waiting for me. Taunting me. I click it.
Fuck.It’s worse than I thought. La Mariposa is officially…losing money. We were always close, but it was never this definitive. I feel a wave of panic swirl in my chest, picking up strength with every turn around my heart. If I don’t secure this investment, it will all be over. My mother will be devastated. Everything she worked for—well, my father worked for—will be taken away. La Mariposa is the last thing we have left of him, and I don’t want to be the reason we lose it. I can’t be. She’d never forgive me. Any morsel of pride she has in me and herself would be gone forever. This investment needs to happen. I look through my contacts, and after making my selection, put my phone against my ear, listening to each trill, getting increasingly impatient with each one.
“Domino’s.”
I quickly glance at my phone screen to see the number I called.
“Faye, I swear to God,” I snarl.
“Oh, hey! I had no idea it was you,” Faye jokes. “What can I do for you?”
“Just checking in on the restaurant. How is everything?”
“Well, José quit, Carlos stole all of the inventory, and all the customers have decided to boycott the place. How are you?”
“Ha-ha, Faye. Can you please just tell me? Have you been getting my emails?”
“Isa, everything is still going fine. I helped José prep the food yesterday, so we’re all set for tomorrow. I double-checked the inventory, and we’re ready to close the shop in a couple of hours. I’m currently baking some empanadas and placing the flans in the display. Please trust me, okay? I wouldn’t let you down.”
“You’re right,” I say between gritted teeth. “I’m sorry.”
“How’s it going over there? Are you settled in?”
“Uh, yeah. Sort of.” I glance over at the bed Valentina has taken possession of. “This is going to be an interesting week for sure. I’ll try not to bother you too much. I do trust you, Faye. I’m just… I feel like I’m spiraling.”
“Hey, just take a deep breath. You’ve got this. And I’ve got this. I promise. I’ll talk to you later.”
I put the phone down and take a deep breath. They’re right. I got this.
* * *
