Two Hours Before My Wedding, My Fiancé Let His Best Friend Butcher My Mother’s Waist-Length Hair—When He Told Me Not to Make a Scene, I Took Off My Ring and Walked Away… / Chapter 61 / 68

Chapter 61 - The Visitor at the Gate

The arrogance of the claim was staggering, but its timing was deliberate. Whoever had filed the patent had known that the historical records of the process were presumed lost, leaving the intellectual property open to corporate piracy under international commercial trade frameworks.

The following morning, as Mateo prepared a formal protest filing with our legal counsel, an unexpected visitor arrived at the academy gates.

She was no older than nineteen, carrying a weather-worn canvas rucksack and holding a wooden case wrapped in oilcloth. Her hair was pulled back in a neat, tight braid tied with hand-spun woolen cords, and her dark, sharp eyes swept across the courtyard with intense scrutiny before settling upon Elena.

"Good morning," I said, stepping forward across the courtyard. "Can we help you?"

The young woman set her rucksack down by the stone fountain. She did not introduce herself by name. Instead, she reached into her pocket and drew out an oblong object made of polished deer bone, placing it carefully in my open palm.

It was an antique weaving shuttle, yellowed with age, its spine engraved with the very same stylized hummingbird crest that marked the corner of my great-grandmother's cedar trunk.

"My grandmother told me to walk until I found the house where the smell of *encino* oak rose into the sky," the girl said, her voice steady and clear. "My name is Paloma Cruz. My great-aunt was Rosario Sandoval."

Elena froze, her hand flying to her mouth. "Paloma... you are Carmen's granddaughter?"

"I am," Paloma answered, bowing her head slightly in formal respect. "When the cooperative was broken in '68, my branch of the family took the mountain looms higher into the Ixtlán range. We kept the seeds of the wild cotton and the cactus gardens alive. But two weeks ago, men with briefcases and local police escorts came to our village."

Mateo stepped closer, his jaw tightening. "What did they want?"

"They wanted our soil samples, our harvest ledgers, and the signatures of our village elders on non-disclosure contracts," Paloma said, a flicker of defiance burning in her dark eyes. "They offered checks drawn on an international bank. When my grandfather refused to sign, they told us that within thirty days, our traditional dye would be declared counterfeit under international export law. They said a private European brand had already registered the formula."

"They're using corporate strong-arm tactics to manufacture a monopoly," Mateo muttered, running a hand through his hair. "If they secure the European and Mexican patents simultaneously, any traditional indigenous textile using that specific dye formulation could be impounded at customs as an intellectual property infringement."

"They stole our land fifty years ago," Elena said, her voice hardening with an authority I had rarely heard from her. "They will not steal the light of our hands."