Chapter 6: Valeria
Patricia asked Teresa to wait in the reception area.
The moment the door closed, I sat very still and looked at the surface of the conference table.
"Take whatever time you need," Patricia said.
"I don't have time," I said.
"Tell me what this means legally."
Patricia was quiet for a moment.
Then she opened her notepad.
"If your father passed away in Mexico, the will would be governed by Mexican inheritance law unless he held assets in the US that fall under a separate jurisdiction.
Do you know where his accounts were held?"
"I don't know anything about his finances.
I haven't spoken to him in eleven years."
"Okay." She wrote something down.
"The contesting party — Valeria — would need to establish legal standing.
That means proving her relationship to your father, which, if he acknowledged her informally but never legally, may be more complicated than her attorney is suggesting."
"Can she win?"
"Contested inheritance cases are unpredictable.
But if her attorney is already making moves — contacting people in your circle, building a picture of your situation — they're not filing a weak claim." Patricia set her pen down.
"Gabriela, I need to ask you something directly.
Did your father ever try to contact you?
In the last few years?"
I thought about it carefully.
"There was an email," I said.
"About four years ago.
From an address I didn't recognize.
It said it was from my father.
It said he wanted to explain things and asked if I would be willing to talk." I paused.
"I deleted it.
I thought it might be spam.
Or I told myself it might be spam."
Patricia nodded slowly.
"If that email can be recovered, it may establish that he was attempting to reconnect — which could support the authenticity of the will and his intention to leave his estate to you."
"I deleted it."
"Deleted emails are often recoverable.
I'll connect you with a digital recovery specialist."
I stood up and walked to the window.
Austin spread out below in the afternoon light, ordinary and indifferent.
My father had died in February.
It was now late April.
Someone had known for two months.
Teresa had known.
Marco had known, in a peripheral way.
His attorney had known.
I had been the last person in my own life to find out that my father was gone.
I turned back to Patricia.
"I want to meet Valeria."
"That's not advisable at this stage—"
"I'm not asking for legal advice.
I'm telling you what I want." I sat back down.
"She's my father's daughter.
Whatever her attorney is doing, she's a person.
I want to know who she is before this becomes a fight."
Patricia looked at me for a long moment.
"I'll reach out to her attorney and propose a preliminary meeting.
No commitments, no concessions.
Just a conversation."
"Thank you."
I went back to the reception area.
Teresa was sitting with her hands in her lap, looking at the floor.
"Mom."
She looked up.
"Did Valeria reach out to you directly?
Or only through Marco?"
"She called me once.
Two weeks ago." Teresa's voice was careful.
"She was — she wasn't unkind.
She said she didn't want a fight.
She said she just wanted what her mother was promised."
"What does that mean?
What was her mother promised?"
Teresa was quiet for a moment.
"Your father told Elena that when he died, she and her daughter would be taken care of.
He made that promise before he married me." She paused.
"He kept sending money.
But he never changed his will to include them formally.
And Elena died six years ago."
I sat down in the chair beside her.
Not close.
But beside her.
"So Valeria lost her mother," I said.
"And now she's lost him too.
And she has a promise that was never put on paper."
Teresa nodded.
"And you thought the right response to all of this was to say nothing and terrorize my daughter."
Teresa flinched.
"I know."
"I'm not forgiving you today," I said.
"But I need you to tell me everything you know about Valeria.
Everything Marco told you.
Everything she said when she called."
Teresa looked at me with something that might have been relief, or might have been shame, or might have been both.
"All right," she said.
"All right."
Outside, my phone buzzed on the table.
A text from a number I didn't have saved.
*Ms.
Hernandez.
My name is Valeria Vega.
I think it's time we spoke.
Not through attorneys.
May you like
Just us.
Please.*
