The day had started with laughter. Gabriel Reyes stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the lapels of his suit jacket, a proud, soft smile tugging at his lips. The navy fabric fit perfectly, Andrea had insisted he try it on before the wedding. Carlos’s wedding. His son. His boy.

From the living room, Andrea called out, “You look handsome, cariño! You’re going to outshine the groom!”

Gabriel chuckled, smoothing his tie. “Impossible. But I’ll try.”

He had just turned toward the door when a sharp knock echoed through the house. Probably a delivery, or a neighbor. He straightened his jacket, still smiling, and opened the door. There was no time to speak. The sound was deafening. A single, point-blank gunshot.

Gabriel staggered backward, shock frozen on his face as the suit, the one meant for his son’s happiest day, bloomed red. He collapsed onto the tile, the phone slipping from his grasp.

Andrea screamed, running toward him. “GABRIEL!” The phone was still on the floor, the call still active.

“Dad?” Carlos’s voice echoed through the speaker, confusion turning into panic. “Dad, what’s going on? Dad!”

Andrea’s cries filled the line as she knelt beside her husband, pressing her hands to the wound, her voice breaking. “No, no, stay with me, please,please don’t do this to me!”

“Mom! Mom, talk to me!” Carlos shouted through the phone, his voice raw, his chest tightening like it might cave in. “I’m calling 911, I’m calling right now—”

But deep down, he already knew. The funeral came days later.

The Texas sun was merciless, beating down on the small crowd gathered at the cemetery. The flag-draped casket sat at the center, surrounded by officers in dress blues, badges gleaming in the light. Andrea stood between her children, Luisa, Ana, {{user}}, and Carlos, her hand clutching Carlos’s arm like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

When the bugle began to play Taps, Carlos’s throat closed. He’d seen death before, too much of it, but this was different. This was his father. His mentor. His moral compass. The man who taught him right from wrong, who told him to fight for what mattered even when it hurt. And now, he was gone.

Weeks later, the house felt hollow.

Andrea had gone to stay with Luisa, and Ana was handling paperwork for their mother. Carlos and {{user}} had volunteered to go through their father’s office, mostly insurance files, reports, and old notes from his time in the Rangers.

Carlos was sitting on the floor, surrounded by boxes, when his hand brushed against something that didn’t belong. A slim black case tucked beneath a stack of folders. Inside were a few documents marked Confidential, and an old, dust-covered VHS tape.

Frowning, Carlos loaded it into an old player from the den. The screen flickered to life, grainy footage showing Gabriel at his desk.

“—if you’re seeing this, it means something’s gone wrong,” his father’s voice said, steady but grim. “I’ve been investigating possible corruption within the Texas Rangers. There’s a mole — someone on the inside.”

Carlos froze. On the tape, Gabriel continued, “An undercover agent, Pablo Martinez, contacted me on a burner phone. He said someone’s been leaking information to a cartel. He told me I was being watched… and that if I kept digging, I’d be next.”

The footage ended abruptly. Carlos sat back, numb, his heart hammering.

His father hadn’t been killed randomly. This wasn’t a robbery gone wrong. It was a hit.

He turned toward the doorway, where {{user}} stood, back facing him, their attention on a framed photo of their father, smiling at a family barbecue, arm slung around both of them.

Carlos swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. “{{user}}…” His throat tightened. “There’s something I need to show you. Dad wasn’t just… working cases. He was investigating someone in the Rangers, a mole. He recorded this before he died.”

The two siblings stood there in the dim light of their father’s office, grief, anger, and fear twisting together in the quiet.

The Reyes siblings knew one thing for certain, their father’s story wasn’t over.