1791 June Province of Antioquia
Some time passed, and the factory was finally built. Francisco had been forced to buy more slaves to keep it running. He promised them freedom after a few years, and even shares if they chose to stay on. Still, the shortage of labor weighed heavily on him.
Then, by what seemed like luck, a letter arrived from Prussia—a letter that could completely change the family dynamic.
A servant hurried into the room where Francisco was teaching geometry to the children.
"Young master, the master is arguing with a man in the estate. You should go calm them down. If you don't, I fear blood will spill."
Francisco frowned.
"What? Let's go. Kids, you're free for now. Isabella, watch over them so they don't cause trouble."
When he reached his father's office, the shouts were loud enough to be heard from the neighbor's estate.
"I'll never help you again! I almost got killed because of that crazy old man!" roared the merchant.
"It's not my fault! I didn't know he was a Prussian major," Carlos snapped back.
"Oh, you didn't know? Then it's not your fault? You bastard!" the merchant shouted again.
Francisco sighed and entered.
"Father, what's going on?"
Carlos turned, looking a bit guilty.
"Francisco, this is Ramiro, a merchant who trades between Spain, New Granada, and Europe. I asked him to deliver a letter to the contact your mother left me… but it seems that contact was a military man. He thought Ramiro was cheating him and nearly killed him."
Carlos's guilt quickly turned to anger.
"But that's no excuse to scream in my face!"
Ramiro's face went red.
"No excuse? I almost got killed because of your letter! I should kill you right now!"
Before Francisco could react, Ramiro lunged, and the two men began trading punches.
Francisco froze. Seriously? I'm still standing here, you know.
The blows landed hard, but it was clear neither had any real intention of doing serious harm. Bored, Francisco picked up a book and sat down to read while they scuffled.
A servant peeked in, wide-eyed.
"Young master… should we stop them before they hurt each other?"
Francisco glanced up.
"No need. Can't you see? Their fistfight is more like a children's game. Let them cool off."
The servant looked at their bruises but didn't dare disobey. Instead, he went to fetch Grandma Maria.
When she arrived, the two men were sprawled on the floor, clothes torn, faces bruised, laughing like drunkards.
"You're still weak, old man," Carlos smirked.
"Weak? I won the fight—you've got more bruises than me," Ramiro retorted.
"Bullshit! Want to go again?"
"Anytime!"
They were about to start round two when a wrinkled hand landed firmly on both their shoulders. The moment they saw Maria's face, both went pale.
"Grandma—" Francisco stammered.
"Nothing! What kind of example are you setting for your child? Fighting like little boys? Come with me. I'll treat you both right now!"
The wails of protest from the two grown men could probably be heard all the way in Spain.
Later, they returned with bandages, pretending the treatment hadn't hurt. Francisco simply acted as though he'd seen nothing.
"Now that the fight is over," he said calmly, "can you tell us what exactly happened?"
Ramiro sighed, grateful for the way out.
He explained that Francisco's maternal grandfather had not been a commoner but a soldier conscripted by Prussia. Forced to leave his wife and child, he returned to find them gone. A famine and corruption among officials had left his family destitute, and when he learned of it, he killed the corrupt official responsible.
Tried in court, he caught the attention of Frederick II himself. Outraged by the corruption, the king not only pardoned him but ordered executions of officials guilty of similar crimes. After that, Francisco's grandfather fought in several battles under Frederick.
When Ramiro approached him using Francisco's mother's name, the man suspected trickery from the Junkers. His fury nearly cost Ramiro his life, but in the end, he agreed to send back two letters—one for Carlos and one for Francisco.
Carlos's letter was full of both gratitude and harsh scolding. Some German phrases baffled him, so he asked Francisco to translate.
Francisco chuckled.
"You don't want me to translate this, Father. But basically, if he ever meets you, he'll challenge you to a duel to the death."
Carlos's face darkened, but before he could respond, Francisco opened his own letter.
"This one was more direct, even enthusiastic. His grandfather had contacts in Hanover and urged him to attend university there. He wrote that, considering the timing, Francisco should leave in 1792 so he could enroll in the winter semester that began in October."
The room grew heavy with silence. Carlos's eyes dimmed at the thought of his only son gone for years, across an ocean full of dangers.
"Father, I…" Francisco wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't come.
Carlos sighed.
"I understand. This is something you must do. I won't stop you. But I can't stop myself from worrying. After all, you're my only son. Still… I'm proud of you. If you put your trust in God, I'm sure everything will be fine."
Ramiro clapped Carlos on the back.
"Don't worry. He'll be with me. I know the sea like the palm of my hand."
Carlos glared.
"Must I remind you that you've already lost two ships?"
Ramiro muttered, indignant.
"I'm not God. Accidents happen. And you promised not to bring that up!"
Carlos's voice rose again.
"When it's just you, I don't care. But this time it's my son. The situation is different."
Ramiro puffed his chest.
"You know what? Let's fight again!"
He dragged Carlos outside for round two. Francisco sighed. Ramiro's antics were his way of cheering up his father. Still, Francisco knew he would soon have to face Grandma Maria as well—after all, he was about to take away her only surviving granddaughter.
The thought alone gave him a headache. He sighed once more and went to look for Catalina and Grandma Maria.