A chill ran down my spine. “What?”
He didn’t answer. He opened the gate.
Inside, it smelled like damp air, old gas, and rats. We walked past rotting boxes and old machines covered in tarps. At the very back was an office with a locked door. My uncle broke the padlock with a metal rod.
“When they locked me up, I swore I wouldn’t open this until your mother was in danger.”
“What’s in there?”
He looked at me, and for the first time, I saw fear in his eyes. “The reason your dad wanted me dead.”
He pushed the door open. The lightbulb flickered. What I saw froze me solid.
There was a wall covered in photos. Photos of my mom when she was young. Of my uncle in handcuffs. Of my dad counting stacks of cash. And right in the middle, a photo of me as a baby. A note taped to it read: “If the kid asks, tell him Ramiro was the thief.”