Progress on block three was on track. We had finalized the structural plans, and the technical team was already beginning to lay the first stages of the foundation. Eva gave me accurate reports, and Pablo, although somewhat clumsy, functioned as a willing assistant.

I took refuge in my work. Not to escape, but because, for the first time in a long time—in any life—I felt like I was building something that wouldn't collapse beneath my feet.

But there was another reason.

Over the last few days, I had secretly researched the construction company's archives. Thanks to my access to historical projects, I managed to find plans and records of an old project related to the Arriaga Group. The same project Benjamin asked me to help with a year ago.

The name was different: Operation Altos del Sur. A housing development on an unstable hill that should never have been approved.

And in the attached documents, I found what I was looking for: a falsified geological report. The original report, signed by a consultant outside TierraNova, warned of the risk of landslides due to rain.

The report published by the Arriagas omitted these conclusions. They presented another document, with the same date, but visibly manipulated.

My accident happened on that same hill. The road that collapsed under our car was part of that development.

It was not an engineering error. It was negligence and a cover-up. A crime by any measure.

In my previous life, Benjamin took me there on purpose, knowing that section was unfinished, weakened, and unmarked.

Did he expect me to die? Or did he just want to scare me?

I remembered the screams, the sound of glass breaking, Lucas's eyes, filled with terror, searching for mine, and I held back the tears.

This time, I didn't have enough evidence to go to court, but I did have enough to prevent construction from taking place there.

***

The next day, I handed a sealed envelope to a private courier, addressed to an anonymous account I had created for the sole purpose of sending information to a journalist who trusted the anonymity of his sources: Patricio Mendoza.

I wrote only one line:

"Altos del Sur development. Compare the reports."

I attached copies of both documents.

Revenge isn't always served cold; sometimes, it's cooked with surgical precision.

***

That afternoon, while we were having lunch at the company cafeteria, Pablo showed me his cell phone.

"Have you seen this?"

On the screen, a live broadcast of a financial program showed Benjamin Arriaga giving statements to the press.

He was wearing a light gray suit and his best smile. The cameras loved him. His tone was that of an elegant victim.

"TierraNova has always maintained ethical standards. The recent accusations are unfounded, and we will respond through legal channels. Certain people have tried to tarnish my name for personal reasons..." he said.

"What a hypocrite," Eva muttered beside me.

"He's nervous," I said, without looking away.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because he no longer has control of the situation. He's trying to regain it by force, but he's finding it difficult."

Eva looked at me sideways.

"Was it you who leaked the Altos del Sur story?"

"I can neither confirm nor deny that information," I smiled and took a bite of my empanada.

Pablo let out a tense laugh.

"This is going to blow up, isn't it?"

"Yes," I replied. "And I want to be in the right place when it happens."

***

Two days later, Camila Nogueira returned to the scene.

She arrived at the office with a red folder and handed it directly to Roman.

I knew because I saw it from the hallway window.

His expression was serious, and she was smiling like someone who had planted a bomb and was waiting to hear the explosion.

Minutes later, Eva called me.

"Román wants to see you. Private room."

I entered calmly, chin held high.

Roman was holding the folder in his hands.

"Is this true?"

The folder contained copies of forged messages. Alleged conversations between me and a journalist where I "confessed" to having manipulated Del Valle's internal files to harm TierraNova.

"No," I replied, looking at the contents of the folder in Roman's hands. "They're fake."

"Can you prove it?"

"Can you prove they're not?"

Román tensed up. He closed the folder forcefully.

"Camila presented them as part of an independent investigation."

"Camila hates me because... I don't know, she just hates me. I think I remind her too much of her personal ghost."

—It's not enough to say he hates you.

"Then have an audit done. Check my access, my records. Talk to the systems team. I have nothing to hide."

"I will," he said, and stood up.

"Do you doubt me?"

"I doubt everyone," he replied coldly. "But I'm giving you the chance to prove me wrong, which is why you haven't lost your job."

"What if it had been true?" I asked, without knowing why.

Roman looked at me, and for the first time in a long time, his expression was a strange mixture of harshness... and disappointment.

"Then it would have hurt me more than if it had come from anyone else."

I left the room with my heart pounding. Not from fear. From rage.

Camila had crossed the line.

And I wasn't going to forgive her.

***

That night, I called Eva. I asked her to meet me at a discreet café, far from the company.

"Do you trust me?" I asked her bluntly.

"Yes. What do you need?"

"I want to know who in IT authorized the delivery of those false records. Camila doesn't have access to our conversations. Someone gave her access."

Eva nodded slowly.

"I'll talk to Javier. He's the only one who really owes me a favor."

"Tell him I don't want him to rat anyone out. Just tell me what he saw."

Eva smiled.

"I knew there was a reason to keep betting on you."

***

The next day, I received an anonymous email from the internal server. It contained only one word:

"Daniel."

I froze.

Daniel, the architect who had supposedly resigned after his failed attempt at sabotage.

Of course, he would probably blame me because he wanted revenge. Camila protected him and used him. It all made sense.

Now I had two enemies more dangerous than I thought... and limited time to play my cards.

The board was still in motion.

But so was I.

And no one—not Camila, not Benjamin, not Daniel—knew the move that was about to come.