Adrián opened his mouth, but Daniel took a step forward.

“Not today. Not in front of my wife. Not in front of my son.”

Adrián left muttering apologies, but his composure had vanished. As the door closed, Daniel turned to me and gently hugged me, kissing Lucas’s forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have left you alone with him.”

I wept silently.

Hours later, Daniel called a lawyer. Then his parents. Then someone else I didn’t know. His tone was cold, determined. Something was afoot.

The next day, Adrián returned. He wasn’t alone. He carried documents and looked nervous.

“We need to talk,” he said.

Daniel wouldn’t let him in.

“No. You’re going to hear this.”

He explained, with evidence, that Adrián had been using the family name for shady dealings. Hidden debts. Petty fraud. Lies the family had ignored for years.

“And now,” Daniel added, “you’re going to apologize. Or this will all go to the authorities.”

Adrián lowered his head. For the first time, he didn’t seem superior.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I was wrong.”

Daniel didn’t reply. He closed the door.

The family took sides. Some distanced themselves. Others apologized. I learned something important: blood doesn’t guarantee loyalty.

But the story didn’t end there.