He thought he had beat me. But really, that’s when I started winning.

A few days later, on a deserted road near Barcelona, after receiving a call announcing that the sale had been blocked by my lawyer, Alberto pushed me out of the car screaming as a final farewell:

“Nobody loves you!”

The dust raised by the wheels was still floating in the air when I pulled the phone out of the bag. I had the Weiss number dialed.

“Mr. Alexander?” I am Clara. The time has come. I need your help.”

He didn’t ask me anything else. He just asked me to send him my location. Less than an hour later, a black limousine appeared on the empty road.

The chauffeur got out, opened the door, and invited me in.

The inside smelled of hardwood and leather. In front of me was Alejandro Gutiérrez, a man with silver hair and penetrating eyes.

“Your grandmother always said you were much stronger than you looked. I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

I smiled bitterly.

“Strong? Now I feel shattered.”

“No, Clara. What you feel is the beginning of your rebirth.

In the following days, Alejandro put a network of lawyers and financial advisors at my disposal.

Thanks to them, I discovered the truth: Alberto was deep in debt; his so-called “business” was just a facade to hide unpayable loans.