I choose you

The first thing I learned about the Montemayor name was that it could open almost any door. The second thing I learned was that sometimes, it was the reason doors were slammed in your face. I had spent the better part of my life trying to figure out which one applied to me. Today, however, I didn’t want to think about any of it. Today, I was simply Andrés Fabiano Montemayor. Twenty-three years old. Harvard graduate. Valedictorian. Lawyer. And, for the first time in my life, standing on the edge of a future that belonged entirely to me. I stood behind the podium in my graduation gown, looking out at thousands of faces. Professors. Students. Parents. Friends. Families. People who had traveled from different parts of the world to watch their children receive their degrees. I adjusted the microphone. My hands weren’t shaking. They never did. I had never been shy. Reserved, yes. Careful, definitely. But never shy. There was a difference. I simply didn’t feel the need to tell everyone everything about myself. Especially when my last name already told people far more than I wanted them to know. “Good afternoon.” The crowd quieted. I smiled. “To the graduating class of Harvard University…” A small laugh moved through the audience. I continued. “We made it.” The laughter grew louder. I waited until it settled. “Four years ago, many of us arrived here believing we knew exactly what we wanted from our lives. Some of us were right.” I paused. “Most of us were probably wrong.” Another laugh. I smiled. “Some of us changed our majors. Some changed our friends. Some changed cities. Some changed our entire understanding of who we were.” I looked down briefly at the speech in front of me. “But perhaps that’s what education is supposed to do.” I looked back at the audience. “It isn’t supposed to give us every answer. It’s supposed to teach us how to ask better questions.” The room became quieter. That was what I liked about public speaking. Not the attention. The silence. That moment when thousands of people stopped talking and actually listened. “My name is Andrés Fabiano Montemayor.” I heard a few whispers from somewhere in the audience. Of course I did. My surname always had a reaction. I ignored it. “I’m graduating today with a degree in law, but I don’t believe a degree makes any of us extraordinary.” I glanced toward the faculty. “It gives us an opportunity.” I looked back at my classmates. “What we do with that opportunity is what matters.” I continued speaking. About responsibility. About justice. About choosing your own path. About refusing to allow your circumstances to become an excuse for your future. I didn’t mention my parents. I didn’t mention the Montemayor empire. I didn’t mention politics. I didn’t mention the businesses. I didn’t mention the rumors. And I certainly didn’t mention the blood that had been spilled around my family name. There were things that didn’t belong in a graduation speech. And my family had enough of those things to fill an entire library. Instead, I spoke about the future. “My grandfather once told my father that power was the ability to make people afraid of losing you.” I stopped. The audience was completely silent. “I disagree.” I smiled faintly. “I think real power is the ability to leave a place better than you found it.” For a moment, nobody moved. Then the applause came. It started somewhere near the middle of the crowd. Then another section joined. Then another. Within seconds, the entire auditorium was standing. Applauding. Cheering. I stood there, slightly stunned. I’d prepared for this speech for weeks. I hadn’t prepared for that. I looked across the crowd. And then I saw him. My brother. Héctor. He was standing near the front. Dark suit. White shirt. No tie. One hand in his pocket. The other applauding. My brother rarely looked emotional. Héctor Montemayor had been raised to hide every weakness. At thirty-one, he was already one of the most influential men in Mexico. Politician. Businessman. Brother. Protector. And, unfortunately, the person who had been forced to become my parent when we were children. I smiled at him. His smile was small. But I knew my brother. That smile meant everything. I knew what it had taken for him to be here. Héctor had never missed anything important in my life. My first day of school. My first debate competition. My first university interview. My first flight to Boston. Every birthday. Every Christmas. Every moment when I had needed someone. He had been there. Always. After our parents died, he became everything. Brother. Guardian. Father figure. Protector. He had been eighteen when they died. I had been fourteen. Too young to understand why men in black suits had suddenly started filling our house. Too young to understand why people lowered their voices whenever they spoke about our father. Too young to understand why Héctor stopped sleeping properly. Too young to understand why he suddenly had meetings behind closed doors. Too young to understand why our family name appeared in newspapers beside words that I didn’t understand. Money. Politics. Corruption. Organized crime. Cartels. Influence. My father had been connected to things I wanted nothing to do with. And Héctor had inherited all of it. Not because he wanted it. Because someone had to protect us. He had once told me that I was the only person in the world he would burn everything down for. I had believed him. I still did. That was why I had worked so hard. I wanted a life that didn’t require protection. I wanted my own name. My own career. My own choices. I wanted to become a lawyer because laws were supposed to be stronger than men. At least, that was what I believed. I wanted to work in constitutional and corporate law. I wanted boardrooms instead of back rooms. Courtrooms instead of private estates. Contracts instead of whispered agreements. I wanted my name attached to something I had earned. Not something I had inherited. I finished my speech to another standing ovation. And when I stepped away from the podium, I looked toward my brother again. That was when I noticed the man standing beside him. My smile disappeared. For several seconds, I simply stared. No. Absolutely not. I knew that man. Everyone in Mexico knew that man. Mateo Alejandro Del Río. He was older than me by four years. Thirty years old. One of the most feared and influential men in Mexico. He came from another powerful family, one whose history was almost as complicated as mine. The Del Ríos and the Montemayors had known each other for generations. Our families had attended the same weddings. Funerals. Political events. Business dinners. Private celebrations. When I was a child, Mateo had been around often. Too often. I remembered him standing at family gatherings with that arrogant expression on his face. I remembered him teasing me. I remembered him stealing food from my plate. I remembered him calling me little lawyer long before I had even decided I wanted to become one. And I remembered disliking him. Deeply. Some things never changed. Apparently, neither did he. He stood beside my brother in a perfectly tailored black suit, watching me. He wasn’t applauding anymore. He was simply looking at me. Like he was studying me. Like he had every right to be there. My jaw tightened. Why was he here? I hadn’t invited him. I had specifically invited Héctor. Only Héctor. My brother knew I didn’t like Mateo. He knew exactly how complicated my relationship with that man was. So why was he standing beside him at my graduation? My eyes met Mateo’s. He smiled. Not a friendly smile. Not exactly. Something quieter. More deliberate. I looked away. No. Whatever this was, I didn’t want any part of it. The ceremony continued. Names were called. Degrees were awarded. Photographs were taken. People cried. Parents hugged their children. Friends threw their caps into the air. And I smiled for photographs beside classmates I had spent four years with. But throughout the entire ceremony, I could feel Mateo’s presence. Like a shadow. When everything finally ended, I walked toward my brother. “Héctor.” He opened his arms. I immediately stepped into his embrace. He hugged me tightly. “Congratulations, little brother.” I laughed against his shoulder. “You came.” He pulled away and looked at me like I’d said something ridiculous. “Of course I came.” “I know.” “You think I’d miss this?” “No.” “Good.” He placed both hands on my shoulders. “I’m proud of you.” Something tightened inside my chest. I looked down briefly. “Thank you.” “You earned this.” I nodded. Then I looked past him. Straight at Mateo. Héctor noticed. Of course he did. His expression changed slightly. “Before you ask—” “Why is he here?” Mateo’s mouth curved upward. “I was wondering when you would ask.” I stared at him. “You weren’t invited.” “I know.” “Then why are you here?” Héctor sighed. “Andrés.” “No.” I looked at my brother. “You know I don’t like surprises.” “This isn’t a surprise.” I pointed toward Mateo. “Then what is he?” Mateo laughed softly. “Still charming, I see.” “I wasn’t talking to you.” “I know.” Héctor stepped between us slightly. Not because he thought I was in danger. Because he knew me. He knew exactly how little patience I had for Mateo. “Mateo came because I asked him to.” I looked at my brother. “Why?” Héctor didn’t answer immediately. That was when I knew something was wrong. My brother never hesitated. Not with me. Never. “What happened?” “Nothing happened.” “Héctor.” His eyes met mine. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Then he said quietly, “We need to talk.” I glanced at Mateo. “About what?” “Not here.” I folded my arms. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me.” Mateo leaned against the nearby table. “You really haven’t changed.” I turned toward him. “Neither have you.” His smile widened. “Good.” There was something about the way he said it that irritated me. I turned back to Héctor. “What’s going on?” My brother looked at me for several seconds. Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out his phone. He looked at the screen. Whatever he saw made his expression harden. I knew that look. I had seen it before. It was the expression he wore when he became Héctor Montemayor instead of my brother. The politician. The businessman. The protector. The man who had inherited our family’s darkness. “You’re coming home with me,” he said. I frowned. “I have a dinner tonight.” “Cancel it.” “Héctor—” “Cancel it, Andrés.” His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. I looked at him. Then at Mateo. Then back at my brother. Something had changed. I could feel it. My graduation was supposed to be the beginning of my life. Instead, standing there between my brother and the man I had spent years trying to avoid, I suddenly had the uncomfortable feeling that my family’s past had finally decided to come looking for me. And judging by the expression on Héctor’s face— it wasn’t asking permission to enter. It was coming through the door.