"If I may," it said, calm yet carrying weight enough to silence even the reporters.
Heads turned.
From the orchard's edge, a tall man stepped into the light. He wore a dark tailored suit, crisp white shirt open at the collar, his posture regal yet effortless. His sharp features caught the morning sun, and his eyes—piercing, almost golden—swept over the officials like a judge appraising a court.
Bianca's breath caught.
The man walked forward with unhurried grace, the crowd parting unconsciously around him. "Eduardo Moreno," he introduced himself, voice resonant. "Independent land and agricultural consultant. I was asked to observe these proceedings."
Director Salazar blinked in surprise. "Mr. Moreno? You weren't on the roster—"
Eduardo's faint smile disarmed her. "When matters concern land and legacy, I tend to appear where I am needed. I assure you, Director, I only seek truth."
And somehow, with those words, the tension eased.
Bianca didn't know why—but for the first time that morning, she could breathe.
Director Salazar regarded Eduardo warily, though his easy confidence seemed to disarm even her sharp edges. "Mr. Moreno, if you're here in an advisory capacity, then by all means, observe. But understand that this is a government-sanctioned investigation. We answer to the people, not to private consultants."
Eduardo inclined his head slightly, a gesture respectful yet somehow regal. "Of course, Director. My only concern is that Miss Rodriguez is treated fairly. This hacienda is her family's inheritance. She is young, yes—but hardly irresponsible. It would be unjust for assumptions to outweigh facts."
His words, spoken with calm precision, cut through the noise more effectively than any protest Bianca could have managed.
Salazar hesitated, then gave a curt nod. "Very well. But we proceed as planned."
---
For the next hour, the inspection continued. The officials moved methodically: clipboards filled, samples taken, fruits weighed and bagged. A scientist pricked his finger on a thorn from one of the guava trees, cursing softly as he dabbed the wound. Another muttered about "unusual soil conductivity" as he checked his readings.
Through it all, Eduardo remained at Bianca's side. He didn't hover—he stood a pace behind, hands clasped loosely, his gaze cool and watchful. But every time a question was directed at her, and her voice wavered, he leaned forward with a polished response.
"Pesticides?" Salazar asked.
"Organic methods only," Eduardo replied smoothly, before Bianca could stutter.
"Unusual growth rates?" another probed.
"Highland microclimates. The Rodriguez land has always been fertile."
It wasn't lies, Bianca realized. He spoke like someone who knew the hacienda intimately, as if he'd studied its veins and roots long before she ever stepped foot here.
And each time he spoke, the officials seemed less aggressive, as though his presence itself steadied the air.
---
End of Chapter 33