The plaza was already lively when Francisco arrived. Barrels stood open, giving out free alcohol for everyone to taste—the goal was to discover which flavor the people preferred. His father, Carlos, supervised the servants pouring aguardiente while the townsfolk laughed and drank under the warm afternoon sun. The only ones likely displeased were the inn owners, whose sales would surely drop tonight.
Francisco approached his father. "How's it going?"
Carlos looked up, slightly surprised to see his son. "People are happy, though there aren't many around yet. Most are still working at this hour. It'll fill up more tonight. The flavor you liked the most is getting the highest praise."
Francisco smiled proudly. "I thought it would. Do you know if the mayor's coming tonight, or should I go look for him?"
Carlos frowned. "Not sure. Some officials came by, asking if we were following the law. When they heard we weren't selling but giving it away, they left. Didn't say anything about the mayor."
Francisco thought for a moment. "They probably wanted to cause trouble, but since we've got the royal license to produce it, there's nothing they can do. And now that we're getting attention for giving it out freely, it's the perfect time for them to poke around."
Carlos chuckled. "Probably. So, what did you do this morning?"
Francisco stiffened. Before he could answer, his little sister, Isabella, chirped happily, "Dad! I helped Sister Catalina save a life today!"
Carlos's expression darkened as he looked sharply at Francisco. "Did you now?"
Isabella nodded eagerly. "Yes! A little girl was sick. I helped make some cloth masks and cleaned her up, and then I helped mix some herbal infusions Sister Catalina showed me." She recited her story with excitement, while Carlos's forced smile grew thinner and thinner—a face so strained that Francisco nearly laughed.
Then Isabella added, "Oh! And, Dad, I want to study medicine with Sister Catalina! Can I?" She gave him the biggest, pleading eyes she could muster.
Carlos sighed, melting instantly. "Sure. I'll ask Grandma María to help you."
"Really?! Yay!" Isabella squealed, then dashed toward Catalina. "Sister, Dad said he's going to talk to Grandma María!"
Carlos watched her go, smiling fondly—then turned to Francisco, his warmth vanishing completely. "Now, would you care to explain what exactly Isabella meant by all that?"
Francisco winced and sighed. "It's like this…" He recounted the morning's events: helping a sick child, discovering little María's condition, and Sister Catalina's involvement.
Carlos's face grew darker by the minute. "And what was the illness?"
"Catarrhal plague," Francisco said quietly.
"What?!" Carlos shouted. "You let Isabella near something that dangerous? Do you realize how easily she could've caught it? What were you thinking?"
"I know!" Francisco said quickly. "It all happened too fast. There was chaos everywhere—my focus was on saving the girl."
Carlos's voice rose again. "You need to understand something: protecting family comes before everything else."
What followed was a twenty-minute lecture on responsibility, legacy, and the sanctity of family. By the end, Carlos's anger had softened into tired concern. "So," he asked, "you want to build a school?"
"Not exactly," Francisco replied. "More like an orphanage—but larger. With classrooms, dormitories, and a place for the kids to eat."
"Is all that really necessary?"
Francisco nodded firmly. "You know our situation better than I do."
Carlos said nothing for a while, then exhaled. "You'd better go talk to the mayor now. Who knows if he'll even be here tonight. We're not exactly the most popular family in this town—especially now that people know how much we're earning."
Francisco nodded. "You're right." He went to Catalina and whispered something. Both turned toward Isabella.
"Little sister," Francisco said gently, "we have to discuss some official business with the mayor, so we can't take you. Stay with Father and tell him all about your future plans, alright?"
Carlos's smile stiffened—he clearly didn't like the idea of Isabella pursuing medicine—but she simply blinked and said, "Okay."
Francisco and Catalina exchanged amused smiles and left for the cabildo, while Carlos shot them a resentful look—one that clearly said, "We'll settle this at home."
The building hadn't changed, though there was more activity than usual—clerks and officers came and went, papers in hand. A guard stopped them at the door. "Good day, sir. What business do you have with the cabildo?"
Noting Francisco's fine clothes, the guard's tone was polite.
"I'm Francisco Gómez," he said. "I'd like to see Mayor Joaquín Tirado."
The guard frowned. "I don't think you have a meeting scheduled."
Francisco nodded understandingly. "Would you please ask the mayor if he's available—or, if not, when I might schedule an appointment?"
The guard gave him a curious look but nodded. "Wait here."
He disappeared inside. Francisco sat beside Catalina, watching dust motes dance in the golden light spilling through the doorway. After a while, the guard returned, his expression unreadable. "Sir, the mayor says he can see you now."
Once inside, all eyes followed Francisco. Some faces showed resentment, others awe—or calculation. He didn't understand why, so he ignored it and climbed to the mayor's office on the second floor.
After knocking, a voice called, "Come in."
Mayor Joaquín sat behind a desk buried in papers. His assistant stood nearby. When Francisco entered, the assistant gave him a complicated look before whispering, "Sir, Francisco Gómez is here."
The mayor looked up, setting the papers aside. "Boy, you really know how to make trouble for me," he said with mock severity.
Francisco frowned. "What do you mean?"
Joaquín sighed, rubbing his temples. "Last time we talked, you told me about your alcohol business. I thought it was promising, so I started preparing to invest effort—maybe even move up to Santa Fe de Antioquia. But instead, you went and opened a cement factory, drew buyers from every corner, and now I've got arrests every week. The sheriff complains nonstop. Petty theft has doubled, because all those rich buyers and their workers attract thieves like flies."
Francisco flushed. "I'm sorry. Honestly, I didn't expect things to grow this fast. My plan was to build a factory in Bogotá, use cement to construct the aqueduct, and use that as publicity. But my partners—you probably know who they are—brought in wealthy buyers, and, well… things escalated."
Joaquín stared at him for a long moment, then let out another weary sigh. "Fine. I'll pretend to believe you." His mouth twisted into a dry smile. "Lucky me—the governor noticed all these changes in Medellín and now wants to send me to Santa Fe de Antioquia."
Francisco looked confused. "You don't sound happy about it."
"Of course I'm not," the mayor grumbled. "Before, this town was poor—going to the capital was a step up. But now, thanks to your factory, merchants and traders are flocking here. Medellín is growing richer by the day. If I stayed a few more years and helped it surpass the capital, I could use that success to become governor myself."
Francisco raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "So you don't want to go?"
"Of course not," Joaquín said bitterly. "But an order from the governor isn't something I can refuse."
Francisco's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Maybe I can. Remember who owns shares in my factory? If I ask them to intervene, they might pull some strings in court to let you stay."