At the engagement dinner they called him "the gardener," but the father remained silent until a screen revealed the plan to steal the family land in front of everyone.

Arturo and Beatriz Montes lived in Juriquilla, one of the most exclusive, heavily guarded residential subdivisions in Querétaro. Their house was a modern monstrosity of glass, steel, and stark white walls, lacking any personal warmth.

Arturo introduced himself as an "independent real estate consultant and investment advisor," though over the course of their interactions, Ramón noticed that Arturo rarely explained exactly what projects he was working on. He spoke in vague buzzwords about "acquisitions," "portfolio diversification," and "emerging markets."

Beatriz, Valeria’s mother, was a woman who seemed to exist entirely for social validation. She served on charity boards, organized fundraising dinners, and spoke about other people as if they were objects in a catalog—some were useful, others were merely in the way.

The Montes family invited Ramón and Mateo to dinner at their private country club to formally celebrate the couple's deepening relationship.

Ramón arrived wearing his best gray sports coat, a gift from Clara, and a freshly ironed white shirt. When he extended his hand to Arturo, the older man's eyes immediately dropped to Ramón’s wrist, lingering on the scratched, vintage Omega watch before finally accepting the handshake.

"So, Don Ramón," Arturo began, swirling a glass of whiskey as they sat down in the plush leather booths of the club's dining room. "Mateo tells us you’re quite the mechanic. Do you still do repair work?"

"Only my own," Ramón replied, keeping his voice level. "Tractors, pumps. Whatever the land needs."

Beatriz smiled over her wine glass, her eyes scanning Ramón’s weathered face with polite condescension.

"Valeria tells us you have a charming little ranchito out near Tequisquiapan," she said.

"It’s not a ranchito, señora," Ramón corrected her gently. "It is the land my family built."

"How picturesque," Beatriz replied, completely missing the distinction.

Mateo, sitting beside Valeria, tightened his jaw, but he remained silent, trying to keep the peace.

Throughout the dinner, the conversation felt less like a celebration of two families coming together and more like a corporate interview. Arturo dominated the discussion, speaking loudly about property values, industrial corridors, and the foolishness of people who held onto land for sentimental reasons.

"The landscape of Querétaro is changing rapidly," Arturo pontificated, cutting into a piece of steak. "Land is an asset, not a relative. People who refuse to adapt, who cling to dirt just because their grandfather walked on it, are losing out on generational wealth."

"Sometimes," Ramón said quietly, looking directly at Arturo, "land can be both an asset and a relative. You take care of it, and it takes care of you."

Arturo let out a short, dismissive laugh, looking around the table as if Ramón had just uttered a naive, childish fairy tale.

"A quaint philosophy, Don Ramón. But the market doesn't care about nostalgia."

Months later, when Mateo formally proposed to Valeria, she cried with such intense, seemingly genuine emotion that Ramón felt a sharp pang of guilt for his lingering suspicions. He watched them embrace, and he desperately wanted to believe that if Teresa were alive, she would tell him to be patient, to stop being a stubborn, untrusting old man.

He forced a smile and offered them his blessing.

The engagement dinner was scheduled two months later at the most opulent historic hotel in the center of Querétaro. The Montes family had insisted on handling the arrangements. They booked a private, frescoed salon, hired a professional photographer, and invited nearly eighty guests, most of whom were Arturo’s business associates rather than family friends.

Ramón prepared for the evening with meticulous care. He wore his gray coat, a crisp new white shirt, and the brown leather shoes he had polished until they reflected the yellow light of his kitchen bulb.

Before leaving the house, he paused in the hallway, standing before the small wooden altar where a framed photograph of Teresa smiled back at him.