That number meant nothing to him.
He walked into his home office, opened a locked drawer, and looked at the one thing that really mattered.
A small glass frame containing a piece of faded red ribbon.
The fabric began to deteriorate despite having been preserved.
He was 22 years old.
Every morning I looked at her.
And every morning I had the same thought.
Where will she be?
The council meeting went exactly as expected.
Congratulations.
Handshake.
Applause for another successful real estate deal.
Alexander smiled, said what he had to say, and played his part perfectly.
But inside I felt nothing.
Afterwards, his partner Carlos Rivera took him aside and asked:
“Are you okay?”
Alejandro said yes.
Carlos sighed.
He told her that Alejandro had been saying the same thing for five years, since he started buying properties in the south of Guadalajara.
For years there were no profits.
Why that place?
Alexander replied that he had his reasons.
Carlos looked at him for a long moment and said:
“It’s because of the girl you’re always looking for, right?”
The girl he never stopped talking about.
Alejandro’s jaw tightened.
Carlos said that perhaps she did not want to be found.
Alexander replied coldly:
“Don’t mention that again.
But it was too late.
That had obsessed him for years.
That afternoon, Alejandro sat alone in his office and opened a file on his computer.
Five years.
Three private detectives.
Millions of pesos spent.
Nothing.
The final report was very clear:
They had exhausted all the clues.
The name Mariana López was all too common.
His family disappeared after 2008, leaving no relocation address.
Alejandro slowly closed the file on the screen.
For a few seconds he stood motionless, staring at the reflection of his own face in the dark glass of the monitor.
A successful man.
A rich man.
A powerful man.
And yet, completely empty.
He took the small frame with the red ribbon and held it between his fingers.
“Where are you… Mariana? he murmured.
For the first time in years, he felt something like true tiredness.
Not the fatigue of working too much.
But the fatigue of looking for something that perhaps I would never find.
Two weeks later, Alejandro made a decision that surprised everyone in his company.
He canceled three important meetings.
He postponed the signing of a million-dollar contract.
And he ordered his assistant to prepare a trip.
“Where are you going, Mr. Torres?” she asked.
Alejandro replied without looking up from the window.
“South of the city.”
Where it all began.
The black car drove slowly through streets Alejandro hadn’t seen in more than twenty years.
The south of Guadalajara had changed.
Some areas were more modern.
Others remained exactly the same.
Small shops.
Old houses.
Food stalls on the corners.
But when the car pulled up in front of Benito Juarez Elementary School, Alejandro felt like time had stopped.
The blue gate was still there.
The metal fence too.
The same place where, one day, a hungry child had waited behind a fence.
Alejandro got out of the car.
The driver wanted to accompany him.
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