Chapter 152: Confrontation

Half an hour later, a guard approached Carlos and spoke with due respect.”Sir, we went to the professor’s house, but it was empty. The place had been ransacked, as if by thieves. The captain is searching for clues, yet he cannot determine whether the man fled on his own or was taken by force.”

Carlos frowned, then waved a hand dismissively.”At least the man possesses enough sense to disappear. Tell the guards to abandon the search—he will not return. Also, release the father at once, and inform him that I shall cover all his son medical expenses. In addition, he is to receive a modest monthly stipend until he recovers.”

The guard nodded, visibly relieved. The Gómez family’s favor carried weight in New Granada; their patronage often meant supplemental pay and certain informal protections. Failing them could cost a guard company both income and standing. Fortunately, Señor Carlos appeared unwilling to press the matter further.

Carlos then turned toward José.

“Boy—José,” he said evenly. “I leave this place in your hands. But understand this well: this school is my son’s charge, entrusted to me in his absence. Should anything befall it, I will not be pleased.”

His gaze hardened slightly.

“See to it that everything here functions as it should. I shall be watching this institution closely.”

José nodded deeply. He understood the warning in Carlos’s words. For Carlos, this school was the last living connection to his son in Europe, and like any devoted father, he wished not merely to preserve it, but to leave behind something that would make his son proud.

“Martin,” Carlos said, turning with a cold glance, “return to your duties. But understand this well—this is the final time you make a fool of yourself. From now on, you are to know exactly what is entrusted to your care. Fail again, and next time I will not stop at threats.”

A chill ran down Martin’s spine. He straightened at once and answered solemnly, forcing a bitter smile.”Do not worry, sir. After today, I would not dare to neglect anything. I am quite fond of my head.”

Carlos mounted his horse and departed with his men, riding back toward the estate. Upon his arrival, his aide greeted him with open resentment.

“Sir,” the aide complained, “did you not send me to fetch Martin? Why did you take the horse I was meant to use and leave without a word, stranding me here without any way to reach Medellín?”

Carlos chuckled lightly.”The matter is resolved. I was simply too angered to leave it unattended. And you, of all people, should understand the importance of that place to Francisco.”

The aide sighed, his tone softening but still firm.”I do understand, sir. But I hope next time you will also consider the risks. This time it ended well because the matter involved only a professor. Next time, it may be someone far more dangerous. Riding out with only two servants when you knew something was amiss was reckless. If anything were to happen to you—while Francisco remains in Europe—Isabella would be left without protection. The other families would not hesitate to devour everything you leave behind before your son could ever return.”

Carlos nodded slowly, forced to reflect upon his actions. He was no longer the young man who fought bandits in the mountains for a handful of coins. He had to adapt to the life of a wealthy and powerful elite—one no longer sheltered by the Crown. In the past, when he was merely a merchant of Cádiz, his death would have meant little: a few estates in Bogotá and Medellín, hardly worth fighting over, especially with the royal family and the ducal house standing as backers.

But now it was different.

With Francisco absent, and with the immense profits of even two industries—combined with his monopoly over pozzolana—he controlled resources that others depended upon. The Roman cement factories opening across the region still relied on him for their most basic material. For that alone, many would kill without hesitation.

If he were to die, no one would hesitate to force a marriage upon his daughter to seize everything he had built.

At the thought, Carlos clenched his fists.

On the opposite side of the town, within another colonial estate, the main residence stood beside a small private chapel. There, an old man knelt in prayer, his hands clasped and his head bowed with solemn piety. The servants beside him observed in silence, attentive to any need their master might have during his devotions.

Suddenly, the sound of horses galloping at great speed shattered the stillness.

Don Aurelio—the current patriarch of the Gómez de Castro family—frowned. He opened his eyes and glanced toward one of the servants at his side. The servant immediately understood and slipped outside.

A short while later, the young servant returned, his face pale with panic.

“Sir,” he said, lowering his voice, “men of the Gómez family are approaching. They do not appear pleased. They claim to possess letters that may compromise the young master, and they demand an explanation. They are heavily armed with muskets, and one of our sentries reports what appears to be a cannon positioned on a small hill some five hundred meters away. They do not seem to have come in peace.”

Don Aurelio’s brow furrowed deeply.”Why would the Gómez family come seeking war?” he murmured. “Did we not cease all actions against them after the last incident?”

The servant shook his head, unable to offer an answer.

With a weary sigh, Don Aurelio allowed himself to be helped to his feet. Leaning on his walking stick, he moved toward the exit, supported by his attendants. The sight of so many armed men surrounding the estate made even the old patriarch uneasy. His own guards stood tense, weapons raised, watching the approaching cavalry. The air had frozen into a dangerous stalemate.

One servant hurried to Don Aurelio’s side and whispered urgently,”Sir, you should not be here. This is dangerous. They are clearly prepared for violence. If something goes wrong, you could lose your life.”

Don Aurelio’s expression hardened with anger.”Do you think I do not know that?” he replied sharply. “But hiding inside will solve nothing. If they intended to attack, this estate would already be in flames. The sentry has seen a cannon—who knows if there are more concealed elsewhere. Even one would be enough to slaughter everyone here.”

The guard’s face drained of color. He swallowed and respectfully took position beside the old man, attempting to shield him.

Don Aurelio stepped forward slowly, then raised his voice so all could hear.

“I am Aurelio, Patriarch of the Gómez de Castro family,” he declared. “I ask you now—why do you come to my estate so heavily armed, and what grievance brings you here?”

The leader of the servants, a man named Miguel, was momentarily surprised. He urged his horse forward until he stood before Aurelio and spoke in a deep, steady voice.

“My patron is greatly displeased, sir. It appears your household has not acted with honor—threatening our workers through their families.”

With a sharp motion, he threw several letters to the ground before Aurelio. The soldiers behind the old patriarch stirred at once, but Aurelio raised his hand.

“Do not move,” he said calmly. “Mauricio, retrieve the letters.”

The servant who stood at Aurelio’s side nodded. Keeping his musket raised, he stepped forward, collected the letters, and handed them to his master. Aurelio read them slowly. For a brief instant, his expression darkened—only for a heartbeat—before he spoke again.

“I fail to see what these letters truly prove,” Aurelio said evenly. “There are no signatures, no seals—nothing that conclusively binds my house to these accusations.”

Miguel sneered, his voice turning cold.

“You should understand, sir, that for our family, suspicion alone is sufficient to defend our honor. I would advise you not to rely too heavily on your faith in the law—it will not protect you here.”

Aurelio fixed Miguel with a long, measuring stare. At last, he spoke.

“I cannot say with certainty what has transpired,” he said, “but I will ensure that it does not happen again. Tell your patron this: from this day forward, there will be no further troubles between our houses. In exchange for his understanding, we are prepared to grant him the rights of exploitation to the mines along the Nechí River and the Porce River.”

Miguel’s eyes narrowed slightly in surprise. Those mines were known to be rich—though their yield had declined over the past century, the remaining reserves were still considerable. After a moment’s thought, he nodded.

“Very well. Provide the documentation, and we will depart.”

Aurelio exhaled softly, relief creeping into his posture. He gestured to a servant, who hurried to the study and soon returned with the necessary papers. Aurelio handed them over. Miguel examined the documents briefly, then nodded.

“Thank you, sir. I will inform my patron. We, too, hope this will mark an improvement in relations between our households.”

Aurelio inclined his head. Then, as if recalling something, he added carefully,

“I have heard your patron has no intention of marrying. I have a daughter—a widow. Perhaps the two might become acquainted. Such a union would ensure a more stable understanding between our families.”

Miguel carefully placed the deeds and documents into his satchel and raised an eyebrow.

“I will convey your suggestion to my patron. Should he find the proposal agreeable, he will send word.”

He mounted his horse, fired two shots into the air as a signal, and at once the mounted men turned and rode off toward Medellín.

Aurelio watched them go, his expression darkening. When they were gone, his restraint shattered.

“Summon Ezequiel,” he thundered. “That useless wretch! I want to know who gave him the audacity to endanger this house. And call in those gentlemen of the Church as well—I know that boy is not clever enough to devise such schemes on his own.”

The servants bowed quickly and hurried off to carry out their master’s commands.

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