Carmen nodded, gesturing for the girls to join her. Yes, come on. The twins approached cautiously, eyeing the building with undisguised skepticism.
This is ours now, Luna asked, kicking at a weed growing through a crack in the concrete. Why would Abuelo give us a broken gas station? It’s not broken, Carmen corrected gently. It just needs some love.
She unlocked the front door, the familiar bell jingling overhead as they entered. The interior was dim, with dust motes dancing in the beams of sunlight that managed to penetrate the grime-covered windows. The shelves were sparsely stocked with basic essentials, canned goods, snacks, a few automotive supplies.
The refrigerated section hummed loudly, containing a meager selection of drinks and dairy products. It smells like Abuelo, Mia said suddenly, her voice soft with memory. Carmen nodded, tears threatening as she inhaled the distinctive scent.
Her father had spent most of his waking hours in this small space, building his modest business. Let’s check out the apartment upstairs, she suggested, moving toward the back of the store where a door-marked private led to a staircase. The apartment above the gas station was small but surprisingly well-maintained, a combined living and dining area, a compact kitchen, two bedrooms, and a bathroom.
The furniture was old but clean, a hand-carved chest set on the coffee table, bookshelves lined with volumes in both English and Spanish, framed photos of the family in younger, happier days. It’s tiny, Luna observed. Peering into one of the bedrooms, where would we all sleep? Carmen hesitated.
She hadn’t actually considered moving in. Their current apartment was cramped, yes, but it was close to the girls’ school, to her job at the diner. Yet as she looked around the space, she felt a connection to her father that had been missing these past weeks.
We could make it work, she said slowly. This could be your room. I could take the smaller bedroom.
What about the gas station part? Mia asked practically. Would you run it? That was the question, wasn’t it? Could she run a business? Should she even try? I don’t know yet, Carmen admitted. First, I want to understand exactly what we’ve inherited.
They returned downstairs to the store area. Carmen moved behind the counter, taking in the ancient cash register, the cigarette display, the lottery ticket machine. Everything looked exactly as it had when Roberto was alive.
What’s through there? Luna asked, pointing to another door behind the counter. That’s the office, Carmen replied. The office was small, with just enough room for a desk, a filing cabinet, and a small safe in the corner.
Papers were stacked neatly on the desk, and a calendar on the wall still showed the month Roberto had passed away. As if time had stopped, Carmen sat in her father’s chair, running her hands over the worn desktop. What had he been trying to tell her with that key and cryptic note? She opened drawers, finding ordinary office supplies, invoices, tax documents.
Mom, look at this. Mia said, examining the bookshelf against the wall. These aren’t all in Spanish or English.
Carmen joined her daughter, inspecting the volumes. Mia was right. There were books in what appeared to be Russian, German, Arabic, Chinese, and several other languages she couldn’t immediately identify.
I didn’t know Abuelo spoke all these languages. Luna commented. Neither did Carmen.
Her father had spoken Spanish and English, of course, but she’d never heard him speak any other languages. The discovery unsettled her. What else might she not have known about her father? Opening the top drawer of the filing cabinet, Carmen found neatly labeled folders, invoices, receipts, insurance, all the expected categories for a small business.
But at the back of the drawer was another folder labeled simply correspondencia, correspondence. Inside were letters and postcards from all over the world, written in various languages. Some had her father’s name on them, while others were addressed to names she didn’t recognize.
This is weird, she murmured, setting the folder aside to examine more thoroughly later. The bottom drawer of the cabinet was locked. Carmen tried her office key, but it didn’t fit.
On a hunch, she removed the brass key from her pocket, the one her father had left her in the envelope. It slid into the lock and turned smoothly. Inside the drawer were several items that made little sense in the context of a gas station, a shortwave radio, a set of what appeared to be encryption keys on a laminated card, several passports and different names but all with photos resembling her father at various ages, and a leather-bound journal written in a code or cipher she couldn’t decipher.
What is all this stuff? Luna asked. I’m not sure, but I think there was more to your abuelo than we knew. Also in the drawer was a small leather pouch.
Carmen opened it to find foreign currency, euros, pounds, yen, and several other denominations. Quickly calculating in her head, she estimated there was the equivalent of several thousand dollars. Why would abuelo have all this money in different currencies? Mia asked.
I don’t know, Carmen replied. Maybe he was planning a trip, but that didn’t explain the multiple passports or the coded journal. Something larger was at play here.
The safe in the corner caught her attention next. It was old, with a dial combination lock rather than a digital keypad. Carmen knelt before it, wondering what combination her father might have used.
She tried his birthday, then hers, then the date he had purchased the gas station. None worked. Try the twins’ birthday, Mia suggested.
Carmen rotated the dial 12-24-10 and felt a satisfying click. Inside were several USB drives, a small handgun and a stack of photographs. The photos showed her father with various people, many in what appeared to be military or official settings.
In one, Roberto stood beside a man in uniform with decorations that suggested high rank. In another, he was shaking hands with someone who looked remarkably like a younger version of the current CIA director, though that seemed impossible. Mom, who are these people with abuelo? Luna asked.
I don’t know, Carmen admitted. I don’t know any of them. What had her father been involved in? The evidence before her suggested something far beyond the life of a simple gas station owner.
But before Carmen could process these discoveries further, the bell over the store’s front door jingled. Setting down the photos, she quickly closed the safe and drawer, tucking the key back into her pocket. Hello? She called, stepping out of the office with the twins behind her.
We’re not actually open yet. She stopped short at the sight of her brother Marcus standing in the store, his expression a mixture of impatience and disdain. Beside him was a middle-aged man in an expensive suit, carrying a leather portfolio.
There you are, Marcus said, as if they had been looking for her for hours instead of walking in unannounced. I’ve been calling you all morning. Carmen glanced at her phone, which she had silenced while exploring.
I was busy, she replied. What do you want? Marcus gestured to his companion. This is Howard Blackwell, a developer friend of mine.
He’s interested in the property. Howard stepped forward, hand extended. Ms. Rodriguez, pleasure to meet you.
Carmen didn’t take his hand. Yes, and I’m not interested in selling. Marcus made an exasperated sound.
Carmen, don’t be difficult. Howard is prepared to offer $200,000 for the property. $200,000, the figure made Carmen pause.
That would solve so many problems, a down payment on a house, college funds for the girls, freedom from the constant financial stress. But the items in that drawer, in the safe, what was her father trying to tell her? I need time to consider my options, she said finally. Howard smiled, a practiced expression.
Of course, taking over a business is a big responsibility. Marcus stepped closer, lowering his voice. Carmen, be realistic.
You’re a waitress. You know nothing about running a gas station. Dad left you a burden, not a gift.
Girls, Carmen said, maintaining eye contact with her brother. Why don’t you go upstairs and check out the bookshelves more thoroughly? Once the twins had disappeared up the stairs, Carmen turned to Marcus and Howard. Let me be very clear.
I am not selling today, not to you, not to any developer. My father left me this station for a reason, and I intend to honor his wishes by at least understanding what I have before making any decisions. Howard looked to Marcus, clearly uncomfortable with attention.
Perhaps we should reschedule this discussion when Ms. Rodriguez has had more time to adjust to her new circumstances. Fine, Marcus snapped. But Carmen, don’t let sentimentality cloud your judgment.
This place is a money pit. It needs new pumps, updated tanks, and a complete renovation to be competitive. I’ll figure it out.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot to do here. She returned to the office, reopening the locked drawer to examine its contents more carefully. The coded journal seemed the most promising place to start.
She flipped through pages of what appeared to be meticulously recorded notes, dates, and names, all written in a system she couldn’t decipher. Mom? Mia called from the doorway. There’s someone else here.
Carmen quickly closed the drawer again. And followed Mia out to the store area. A woman in her mid-fifties, her appearance unremarkable except for her exceptionally good posture and alert eyes.
Good morning, Carmen greeted her. I’m afraid we’re not officially open yet. The woman turned her gaze sharp and assessing.
You must be Roberto’s daughter. Something in her tone made Carmen pay closer attention. You knew my father well? I was a regular customer, the woman replied.
Carmen noticed the slight accent in Elena’s speech. Eastern European, perhaps Russian. She recalled the books in Cyrillic on her father’s shelf.
I’m sorry, but Carmen said. We’re still, sorting things out, Elena nodded. Of course, it must be a big adjustment.
Roberto was a special man, irreplaceable really. She seemed about to say more but then glanced at the twins and changed direction. Will you be continuing the business then? I’m not sure yet, Carmen admitted.
Indeed, Elena reached into her purse, then froze, a flicker of alarm crossing her features as something fell to the floor between them. Carmen bent to pick it up, a passport. Not an American passport, but one with Cyrillic lettering.
A diplomatic passport. I’ll get that. Elena said quickly, but Carmen had already retrieved it.
You’re a diplomat? Carmen asked. Just a minor consular official. Nothing interesting.
She reached into her wallet and removed five $100 bills. Perhaps we could forget this little incident. I’m not supposed to be.
Shopping while on duty. That’s not necessary, Carmen said, pushing the money away. Your secret is safe with us.
You are very much like your father. He understood discretion. She tucked the money away but handed Carmen a business card instead.
If you decide to continue the business, call me. I’d be happy to be your first official customer. After Elena left, Carmen examined the card.
It listed only a name and phone number, no title or organization. That was weird. Luna commented.
Carmen shook her head. I don’t know, but I think it’s connected to whatever your abuelo was involved in. Over the next week, Carmen split her time between her shifts at the diner and exploring Estrella.
She couldn’t afford to quit her job yet, but she had begun to clean up the store, taking inventory, familiarizing herself with the operations. The girls helped after school, initially reluctant but gradually warming to the project as they discovered more of their grandfather’s belongings. The strange customers continued to appear.
About a dozen regulars who came at predictable times purchased minimal items and often engaged in brief, hushed conversations in various languages. Carmen began to document these interactions in a notebook, recording descriptions, languages spoken, and any unusual behavior. One particular customer, a tall man with a military bearing who came every Tuesday at exactly 10, 15 a.m., had actually seemed alarmed when Carmen couldn’t respond to his German greeting.
Roberto did not teach you, he had asked, genuinely surprised. That is, unexpected. Carmen’s exploration was interrupted by two unwelcome developments.
First, Victoria appeared with a lawyer. We have testimony from his doctor about his declining cognitive function. Victoria explained, her voice dripping with false concern.
We don’t want to make this difficult, Carmen, but legally, the will may not be valid if he wasn’t of sound mind. Carmen had shown them the door, then immediately called Michael Reeves, who assured her the will was ironclad. Your father underwent a complete cognitive assessment just before updating his will, he explained.
The second complication came from Derek, who filed an emergency motion regarding custody. His filing specifically mentioned Carmen’s erratic behavior in taking on a failing business and her potential relocation to the apartment above the gas station, claiming these changes created an unstable environment for the twins. When Carmen confronted him by phone, his true motivation became clear…
Обсуждение закрыто.