The convoy arrived just after sunrise.
Black SUVs rumbled down the dirt road, raising clouds of dust that clung to the orchard leaves. At the front, a white van bore the seal of the Department of Health. Behind it followed police escorts, uniformed and stern. Villagers gathered along the fence, whispering as the vehicles pulled up to the gates of Hacienda Rodriguez.
Inside the mansion, the air was thick with dread. Lydia clutched Paolo's hand, murmuring prayers. Ramon paced like a caged bull, fists clenched. Lara scrolled frantically through her phone, news feeds exploding with hashtags.
Bianca sat frozen at the dining table, her cup of coffee untouched. The warmth of the morning sun streamed through the windows, but it couldn't pierce the chill sinking into her chest.
"They're here," Ramon growled from the window. "Government men. Scientists. Even soldiers. Like we're criminals."
Lydia's voice quivered. "Señorita, maybe… maybe you should let them in quickly. Better not to anger them."
Bianca stood slowly, smoothing the folds of her dress though her hands trembled. She wanted to appear calm, but inside her heart pounded like a war drum. "I'll face them. I have to."
---
The gates creaked open.
A small procession entered the driveway: a stern-faced woman in a navy blazer, the insignia of the Department of Health pinned to her lapel; two lab technicians carrying cases of equipment; a doctor with a stethoscope slung around his neck; and three police officers bringing up the rear. Cameras followed them—reporters hungry for every moment.
"Good morning, Miss Rodriguez," the woman said crisply, extending a hand. "I'm Director Salazar, Department of Health. We're here under government directive to investigate claims about your so-called miracle fruits."
Bianca forced a polite smile as she shook her hand. "Please… come in."
The officials wasted no time. They fanned out across the orchard, snapping photos, collecting soil samples, cutting fruit from trees. One technician sliced open a guava, placing its flesh into a vial while another ran a handheld scanner over the leaves.
Reporters shouted questions through the gates, their microphones bobbing like restless birds.
"Miss Rodriguez, are you hiding medical secrets?"
"Do you plan to export these fruits?"
"Is it true the land itself glows at night?"
Bianca struggled to answer. Her voice faltered, words tumbling awkwardly. She felt like prey under a thousand eyes. Every movement, every blink was recorded. Her sanctuary—the hacienda her great-grandfather left her—was no longer her own.
---
Director Salazar's questions cut sharper. "How long have you lived here? What farming practices are you using? Are you employing chemical enhancers?"
"No—nothing like that," Bianca stammered. "Just… water, sunlight, and care."
Salazar raised an eyebrow. "And yet your fruits allegedly reverse illness. Surely you understand the public health implications."
Bianca opened her mouth, but no sound came. Her throat tightened. All she could hear was the frantic beating of her heart, the murmur of the villagers, the scratching pens of reporters.
For the first time since she set foot on the hacienda, she felt utterly powerless.
And then—
A new voice cut through the chaos. Smooth. Deep. Commanding.
---
End of Chapter 32