“Your grandfather bought that land thirty years ago. No services. No access. The hangar is barely standing. If you want advice—sell it. Developers have already asked.”
He slid another document across the desk.
An offer.
One hundred and fifty thousand pesos.
My pulse jumped. That was a room. Food. A lawyer. A real chance to start the guardianship process.
It was the easy answer.
The smart one.
But my grandfather never played cruel jokes. He believed in effort.
“No,” I said—surprising myself.
The notary raised an eyebrow.
“You sure? That’s a lot for someone starting from nothing.”
“I want to see it first,” I replied. “It’s mine.”
He placed an old, heavy key on the desk, rust flaking off.
“Your grandfather left this with instructions. ‘Only for Leo. If he comes, it means he’s ready to build.’”
My chest tightened.
I walked from where the road ended until the forest swallowed everything.
And now what?
Leonardo—fresh out of an orphanage, carrying a plastic bag, one hundred pesos, and a rusted key—steps alone into the trees. The abandoned hangar waits like a metal tomb… but what did his grandfather really leave behind?
