I’m unemployed. Is there any work here? the humble young woman asked, unaware that the lone cowboy was looking for someone like her. Before we begin, let us know in the comments what city you’re watching from. Excuse me, sir, Lucia said, wiping the sweat from her brow as she approached the fence where a man in a hat was working. I’m unemployed.

“Is there work here?” Joaquín Delgado looked up from the wire he was repairing and gave her the once-over. Her mid-heel shoes, her perfectly ironed white blouse, that leather suitcase that looked more expensive than the monthly salary of any of his workers—they were completely out of place in the landscape of the Hacienda El Amanecer.

“Do you know how to milk?” he asked, refocusing on his work. “Handling cattle. Do you know anything about farming?” No, but Lucía swallowed, feeling her hopes slipping away. “I’m a certified public accountant. I have experience in administration and finance. I can help with the numbers, the records.” Esteban Moreno, the foreman, who had been with the ranch for over 20 years, let out a sarcastic chuckle from where he was coiling wire. “Boss, this city girl comes to play in the countryside.”

He’d probably run away the moment he saw a cow up close. Joaquín sighed and straightened up, taking off his work gloves. At 32, he had inherited not only the farm, but also the burden of keeping alive a four-generation family tradition.

The last thing I needed was a city woman who couldn’t tell the difference between a bull and a cow. Look, miss. Lucía. Lucía Ramírez. Miss Ramírez, this isn’t an office in Bogotá. Here we get up at 4 a.m. We work under the sun in mud up to our knees, and the conversation was interrupted when the dairy company’s truck arrived to pick up the weekly harvest.

Joaquín apologized and walked toward the vehicle, but Lucía could clearly hear the argument that ensued. “Don Joaquín, I regret to inform you that this month the price per liter will drop another 50 pesos,” said the driver, an older man wearing a company cap. “The orders come from above; there’s nothing I can do.”

“What do you mean it’s going to go down?” Joaquín raised his voice. “You all know very well that I deliver top-quality milk, always on time, always in the agreed-upon volumes. I know, Don Joaquín, but the competition is fierce. There are farms selling for less, and we have to adjust to the market. And what kind of market is that where the producer always loses?” Joaquín replied, clearly frustrated.

My costs aren’t going down. My workers need their wages. Supplies are getting more expensive every day, but you always find excuses to pay us less. The driver shrugged and continued loading the milk cans into his truck. When he finished and left, Joaquín stood in the yard, watching the vehicle drive away with a defeated expression that Lucía recognized perfectly.

It was the same woman I’d seen in the mirror three months ago, the day she’d been fired from integrated management. “SAS, excuse me.” She approached timidly. I overheard the conversation. “Have you considered negotiating directly with smaller processors or perhaps exploring local markets, restaurants, hotels?” Joaquín looked at her in surprise, as if he’d forgotten she was still there.

Do you know about that? I worked for four years at a consulting firm in Bogotá. We did market analysis, process restructuring, and cost optimization. Lucía fell silent, realizing I was talking like I was in a job interview. What I mean is, I do know about numbers and how to find better business opportunities.

Esteban approached the group, drying his hands on a rag. “Boss, you’re not thinking of taking this girl seriously, are you?” he asked. “City women come here looking for adventure, but when they realize how hard it is, they run away. I’ve seen plenty.” Joaquín didn’t answer immediately. He was studying Lucía, trying to figure out if she could really help or if she was just another lost soul who had stumbled upon his ranch. “Why are you here?” he finally asked.

An accountant from Bogotá doesn’t come to the Eastern Plains for no reason. Lucía felt a lump form in her throat. For a moment she considered making up a story, something that sounded better than the truth, but something in Joaquín’s direct gaze convinced her to be honest. “I was fired three months ago.”

The company closed due to the economic crisis, and well, I’ve been looking for work without any luck. I thought maybe there would be opportunities in the countryside that no longer exist in the city. And why here specifically? Because I read that the agricultural sector is one of the few that continues to grow. That was only half a lie.

The truth was, he’d run out of savings, and this was the cheapest town where he could buy a bus ticket. And because I think I can help. I know I don’t have experience in livestock farming, but I do understand finance and administration. Joaquín’s phone rang at that moment. When he saw the number on the screen, his expression hardened. “Agricultural Bank,” he muttered and answered. “Hello.”

The conversation was brief, but Lucía could hear the threatening tone on the other end of the line. When Joaquín hung up, he looked pale. “Problems?” Esteban asked, worried. “Three months behind on the mortgage. They say if I don’t pay this week they’re going to foreclose.” A heavy silence fell.

Esteban cursed under his breath, and Joaquín took off his hat, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of despair. “Boss,” Esteban finally said, “You know I’ve been here since your father was alive. This ranch is my life, too. If there’s anything I can do, no, Esteban. The problem isn’t a lack of hard work.”

The problem is that we’re selling cheap and buying expensive, and we’re not going to fix that by working longer hours.” Lucía felt it was time to speak up or remain silent forever. “Let me help you,” she said, surprising herself with the firmness of her voice. “Just one week. Let me review your numbers, your contracts, your costs.”

“If I can’t find something to improve your situation, I’m leaving without charging a penny.” Joaquín stared at her for several seconds that felt like an eternity. “One week. One week. And where will you sleep? The town is 20 km away and there’s no hotel. Anywhere, a corner, a cellar, there’s a room in the main house that my sister used when she came to visit,” Joaquín said slowly, as if he were making the decision as he spoke.

But let me warn you, here we get up when the roosters crow and we go to bed when the sun sets. No office hours. Understood? What else? Esteban added, clearly annoyed by the decision. Everyone here works. If you’re going to be eating off our plates, you’re going to have to contribute more than just numbers on paper.

Lucía nodded, though inwardly she wondered what she’d gotten herself into. She’d come looking for a job, but she had the feeling she’d found something far more complicated than that. “Deal,” she said, extending her hand. Joaquín hesitated for a moment before shaking it. His hand was rough, calloused, completely different from the soft hands of the executives she was used to dealing with. “Deal, but if I don’t see concrete results in a week, you’re gone.” “Okay.”

Okay. As they walked toward the main house, Lucía gazed at the landscape stretching to the horizon: green pastures dotted with cattle, the largest sky she had ever seen, and a silence completely unlike the constant noise of Bogotá. For the first time in months, she felt something akin to hope.

She didn’t know that this feeling would last until the very next morning when she would discover what life in the countryside truly meant. Chapter 2. Roots in Foreign Soil. The rooster crowed for the third time as Lucía finally managed to open her eyes. The light filtering through the window told her that dawn was fully upon her, and the sounds coming from the patio confirmed that the day had been underway for hours.

He jumped up, remembering Joaquín’s words about getting up when the roosters crowed. According to his watch, it was 6:30 in the morning. In Bogotá, that would have been a decent time to wake up, but here he was clearly late. He quickly dressed in the most practical clothes he had brought, jeans and a cotton shirt, and left the room Joaquín had assigned him.

The main house of the hacienda was a traditional, single-story building with wide corridors, wooden columns, and clay tiles. Everything about it exuded history and family tradition. In the kitchen, he found Doña Carmen, the woman in charge of preparing food for the workers.

She was a woman of about 60 with her hair pulled back in a bun and wearing a flowered apron. “Good morning,” Lucía greeted shyly. “Good morning, my dear. You must be the young lady from Bogotá who’s going to help the boss with the numbers,” Doña Carmen replied, still stirring a pot. “Everyone’s already had breakfast, but I saved you some arepa, eggs, and coffee. Thank you very much.”

Do you know where Mr. Joaquín is? Out milking, but he should be finishing up soon. Sit down, eat, relax. Lucía sat down at the wooden table while Doña Carmen served her breakfast. The arepa was freshly made. The eggs tasted completely different from the ones she bought at the supermarket, and the coffee was so strong that she felt it dispelled every last trace of sleep.

“Have you worked here long?” she asked, trying to start a conversation. “Thirty-five years, my dear. I arrived when Joaquín’s father was still alive. I’ve watched that boy grow up since he was five.” Doña Carmen dried her hands on her apron and sat down across from her. He’s a good employer, but he’s going through a difficult time.

His father died two years ago in an accident, and since then everything has been more complicated for him. What kind of accident? The tractor overturned on a hill. Don Fernando was stubborn. He always wanted to do the work himself instead of asking the boys. Joaquín inherited that same stubbornness, he sighed, and he also inherited the debts and the problems. Lucía finished breakfast and headed toward where she heard voices.

She found Joaquín and Esteban checking some milk cans in the milking area. They both looked at her as she approached. “Good morning,” she greeted them, feeling watched. “Good morning,” Joaquín replied curtly. “We’ve finished milking. It’s 7:30.” The message was clear. She was late. Lucía felt like a scolded child, but decided not to defend herself.

I had more important things to prove. Where can I check the accounting records, the books, invoices, contracts? In the office, next door. But I warn you, they’re not very organized. My dad kept everything in his head, and me, well, I’m not very good with paperwork.

The office turned out to be a small room with a wooden desk, a metal filing cabinet, and stacks of invoices, receipts, and documents scattered everywhere. Lucía sat down and began to go through everything, trying to understand the farm’s financial situation. What she found astonished her, but not in a good way.

There were duplicate invoices that had been paid twice, contracts with suppliers charging prices far above market value, and taxes being calculated incorrectly, generating unnecessary fines and surcharges. The disarray was such that it was impossible to know exactly how much the treasury was making or losing each month.

She spent the entire morning organizing documents and doing calculations. When Doña Carmen called her for lunch, she had a sheet of paper full of numbers that gave her a clear idea of ​​the problem. In the dining room, she found Joaquín Esteban and three other workers she didn’t know. The conversations stopped when she entered. “Excuse me,” she said, serving herself from the plate Doña Carmen had left for her. “So, how are you, Doctor?” Esteban asked sarcastically.

“Have you found the magic formula to save us yet?” “I’m still looking into it, but I have found some interesting things,” Lucía replied, deciding to ignore the mocking tone. “Like what?” Joaquín asked, genuinely curious. Lucía hesitated for a moment. She didn’t want to sound pretentious, but she couldn’t stay silent either.

For example, you’re paying a supplier for cattle feed who charges you 30% more than the average market price. And there are fuel invoices that are duplicated. It seems you’ve paid them twice. Silence fell over the table. The workers exchanged glances, and Joaquín frowned.

Are you sure about that? Absolutely. I have the invoices and I’ve already checked the prices with other suppliers by phone. How much money are we talking about? Joaquín asked. In the last six months alone, between duplicate payments and supplier overcharges, they’ve lost close to 8 million pesos.

Esteban let out a surprised whistle, and the other workers began to murmur among themselves. “Eight million,” Joaquín repeated. “With that money, we could have paid two months’ mortgage, and that’s just what I’ve reviewed this morning. I still need to review the milk sales contracts, operating expenses, and tax matters.” After lunch, Lucía returned to the office with renewed enthusiasm.

So much missing money had been recovered in one morning—what else could he possibly uncover? Sure enough, he found more problems. They were filing taxes as large taxpayers when they should have been under the simplified tax regime, which was costing them a fortune in unnecessary payments. They weren’t taking advantage of deductions for investments in pasture improvement.

And worst of all, the contract with the dairy company was completely unfavorable, with clauses that allowed the buyer to unilaterally change prices. By the time he finished reviewing everything, it was almost 7 p.m. He left the office with three pages full of figures and recommendations, feeling a satisfaction he hadn’t experienced in months.

She found Joaquín in the hallway of the house, drinking a beer and watching the sunset over the savanna. “Can I sit down?” she asked. “Sure,” he replied, pointing to a wooden chair. “Would you like a beer?” “Yes, thank you.” Joaquín went to the kitchen and returned with a cold beer. They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the sky turn orange and red.

“It’s beautiful,” Lucía commented. Yes, it is. My dad used to say this was the best moment of the day. When the work is done and you can sit back and look at what you’ve built. He always wanted to dedicate himself to cattle ranching. Joaquín’s name came up for the first time since I’d known him. Not at all. When I was young, I wanted to study industrial engineering, move to Bogotá, and work for a multinational corporation.

But when my father got sick, I had to come back and take care of this, and then, well, then he died, and I couldn’t leave anymore. Do I regret it? Sometimes, especially on days like today, when the bank calls threatening us and prices keep falling. But this land has been in my family for four generations. My great-grandfather bought it when it was nothing but wilderness.

My grandfather worked on it his whole life. My father improved it. I can’t be the one to lose it. Lucía felt the weight of the responsibility Joaquín carried. It was different from the pressure she had felt in her previous job. This was more personal, deeper. “I think I can help you,” she said, handing him the sheets with her calculations. I’ve found several ways to reduce costs and increase revenue.

Joaquín read the papers silently, his brow furrowed with concentration. When he finished, he looked at her in surprise. “Is this for real? I really can save all that money?” “Yes, but I need you to trust me. Some changes will be easy, like switching suppliers and correcting accounting errors. Others will require more complicated negotiations.”

Like what? Like getting a better price for milk. I have some ideas, but I need to do more research. Joaquín folded the papers and put them in his shirt pocket. “A week,” he told me, right? “Yes, that’s fine, but I want to see real results, not just numbers on paper.” “You’ll see them,” Lucía promised, and for the first time in a long time, she felt confident she could keep a promise.

She didn’t know that the next day she would have the opportunity to demonstrate exactly how serious she was. Chapter 3. Between Sheets and Numbers. Two months had passed since Lucía arrived at the hacienda at dawn, and she was no longer the same woman who had stepped off the bus in Puerto López wearing high heels and carrying a leather suitcase.

Her hands, once soft and well-cared for, now bore small scars and calluses. Her skin had taken on a golden hue from the plains sun, and she had learned to rise before the first crow of the rooster. “Dr. Lucía. The new feed supplier has arrived,” Carlos, one of the younger workers, shouted from the yard. Lucía smiled at the sound of being called “doctor.”

At first she had protested, explaining that she wasn’t a doctor, but Doña Carmen had clarified that in the countryside they called anyone with a university education a doctor. She left the office, which now had a filing system she herself had organized, and headed to meet the truck.

During these weeks, he had managed to switch almost all of his suppliers, achieving significant savings on feed concentrates, veterinary medicines, and fuel. But the most important achievement had come the previous week. He had secured a new buyer for his milk.

It all started when she decided to investigate what happened to the milk after she took it to the processing plant. She discovered they were selling it to a hotel chain in Villavicencio for three times what Joaquín was paid, so she went directly to negotiate with the hotels. “Good morning,” she said to the purchasing manager of the largest hotel in the city. “I’m the administrator of El Amanecer farm. I understand you buy dairy products for your restaurants.”

Yes, but we work with an authorized distributor. We don’t buy directly from farms. I understand, but what if we offered them the same quality, full health certifications, and a price 20% lower than what they currently pay? That conversation had resulted in a contract that increased the price per liter of milk by 40%.

“How did you do it?” Joaquín had asked that night, incredulous, as he reviewed the contract. “I eliminated the middleman. You produce excellent quality milk, but you were selling it cheaply because you didn’t know the true value of your product in the final market.”

That had been the first time Joaquín had looked at her not as a city intruder, but as a partner. Now, as she oversaw the unloading of the concentrate and verified that the quantities matched the invoice, Lucía felt a satisfaction she had never experienced in her previous job in Bogotá. Here, every peso saved, every improvement implemented, had a direct and visible impact.

“Doctor, the boss is looking for you,” Esteban said, approaching with a smile that would have been unthinkable two months ago. The foreman had been the hardest to convince. At first, he saw her as a threat, an intruder who had come to change everything he had learned in 20 years. But when the first results began to appear—workers receiving a bonus for the first time in years, repairs made possible thanks to savings—his attitude changed completely.

“Do you know where it is?” Lucía asked. In the back pasture, checking on the cows that were due to calve this week, Lucía walked along the path that led to the more distant pastures, enjoying the cool afternoon breeze. She had already learned to distinguish between the different breeds of cattle.

She knew which pastures were best for each season and could roughly estimate how many head of cattle each paddock could support without overburdening the land. She found Joaquín by the fence, watching a group of cows about to calve. He was leaning against a wooden post, his hat tilted to one side, wearing a thoughtful expression she had learned to recognize. “Everything alright?” she asked, approaching him. “Yes, just thinking.”

These five cows are due to calve in the next few days, thanks to the new milk price. Each calf represents a much more profitable investment than before. Lucía leaned against the fence next to him, watching the cattle. In these two months, she and Joaquín had developed a routine.

He taught her about livestock and land management. She explained finance and administration to him. They had spent many afternoons like this, walking around the property while talking about improvements, plans, and dreams. “Jaquín, I have to tell you something,” she said in a more serious tone. “What happened? Yesterday I received a call from Bogotá.

“A consulting firm offered me a job, a good salary, an office downtown, all the benefits.” Joaquín tensed up immediately, though he tried to hide it. “And what did he tell them?” “That he needed to think about it, but the truth is, I don’t know if I want to go back to that life.” “Why?” Lucía took a moment to answer, searching for the right words. “In Bogotá, I worked with abstract numbers, optimizing processes for companies I never really understood.”

I helped cut costs that would have meant laying off people I’d never even met. Here, I see the results of my work every day. I see how Doña Carmen can buy medicine for her grandson because she received a bonus. I see how Carlos is saving up to get married because he’s earning more now. I see how you can sleep soundly because the bank isn’t calling with threats anymore.

Joaquín listened to her in silence, his expression a mystery to her. “Besides,” she continued, “I feel like I’m only just beginning to understand this world. There’s so much I can learn, so many things we can improve.” “What exactly are you saying?” Joaquín asked, his voice a mixture of hope and caution.

I’m saying I’d like to stay, not as a temporary employee, but as, well, as a partner. I have some bigger ideas, projects that could benefit not only this farm, but the entire region. What kind of projects? Lucía straightened up, feeling more confident now that she’d laid her cards on the table. I’ve been researching livestock cooperatives.

If we manage to bring together several small producers in the area, we could negotiate better prices for both supplies and sales. We could share transportation costs, health certifications, even veterinary services. That sounds very complicated, Joaquín interrupted. The ranchers around here are very independent; they don’t really like the idea of ​​forming associations.

That’s why I need time, and I need someone who knows them, who speaks their language, who has their respect. Joaquín stared at her intently for several seconds. In these two months, Lucía had more than proven that her ideas worked. The estate was not only up to date with its bank payments, but it had also generated a small emergency fund for the first time in years. “And would you be willing to invest in this company?” he asked.

Because working for a salary is one thing, but risking your own money is quite another. I have some savings from my severance pay in Bogotá. It’s not much, but enough to start something small. Silence fell between them as the sun began to set behind the distant mountains.

It was a comfortable silence, the kind of silence that exists between people who have learned to understand each other. “Is there anything else?” Lucía finally asked. “What? In these two months I’ve learned something I never knew in the city. I’ve learned what it feels like to work on something that truly matters, on something that has a purpose beyond generating profits for shareholders I don’t even know.” Joaquín smiled.

The first genuine smile she’d ever seen on his face. “You know what? My dad always said this land was good for judging people’s character, that the weak left quickly, but the strong put down roots.” “And what does he think of me?” Lucía asked, pointing to the sky. “I think he’d say you’ve already put down roots.”

That night, during dinner, Joaquín made an announcement that surprised everyone. “I want you to know that Lucía is going to stay with us permanently. We’re going to formalize a partnership to manage the ranch and, if all goes well, to create bigger projects in the region.” Esteban raised his glass of juice.

Well then, let’s raise a glass, because this doctor has brought us good luck. “It’s not luck,” said Doña Carmen, “it’s hard work and a cool head. That’s what’s needed in the countryside.” As everyone toasted, Lucía felt something she hadn’t experienced since she was a child, the sensation of being exactly where she was meant to be. She didn’t know that this feeling would soon be put to the test when the past she had left behind in Bogotá came looking for her all the way to the eastern plains. Chapter 4. Secrets in the Wind.

The Toyota Prado kicked up a cloud of dust as it pulled up in front of the main house of the hacienda. It was a vehicle that clearly didn’t belong in the countryside. Too new, too shiny, with license plates from Bogotá. Lucía saw it arrive from the office and felt a strange feeling in her stomach.

A young man, around 30, got out of the vehicle. He was dressed in designer jeans, a linen shirt, and shoes that definitely weren’t made for mud. He carried a leather suitcase and wore a smile that Lucía recognized immediately. It was the smile of someone who had plans that would change everything. “Joaquín Delgado?” the man asked, heading toward where Joaquín was unloading sacks of mineralized salt. “Yes, that’s me.”

How can I help you? I’m Rodrigo Delgado, your brother. The silence that followed was so thick that even the birds seemed to fall silent. Joaquín dropped the bundle he was carrying and stared at the man in front of him. Rodrigo finally said, “What are you doing here? I came to talk to you about the future of this ranch.”

Lucía watched the scene from a distance, but she could sense the tension between the two brothers. In the three months he’d been at the ranch, Joaquín had never mentioned having a brother. “Esteban, keep unloading,” Joaquín said. “Rodrigo, let’s go to the house.” The brothers walked toward the corridor, discreetly followed by Lucía, who couldn’t help but feel curious and, at the same time, a strange sense of alarm. “Would you like something to drink?” Joaquín asked when they sat down. “Water is fine.”

I’m not here for a social visit, Joaquín. I’m here because I’m worried about this property. Worried about what? Rodrigo opened his suitcase and took out a folder full of documents. I work for an agricultural consulting firm in Medellín. We specialize in restructuring rural businesses and optimizing resources.

When I heard you were having financial problems, I decided to look into the situation. How did you find out about my financial problems? The cattle industry is small, brother, everything gets around. The point is, I have a proposal that can save this ranch.

Lucía felt she should leave, but something in Rodrigo’s tone kept her glued to the window, listening. “What kind of proposal?” Joaquín asked suspiciously. “A partnership with Ganadería Integral SA, one of the largest agricultural companies in the country. They’re providing capital to completely modernize the operation. This includes milking technology, genetic improvement, rotational grazing systems, and dairy processing.”

In return, they keep 60% of the profits for 10 years. And what do I get? You gain financial stability, access to cutting-edge technology, ongoing technical support, and the guarantee that this land will remain productive. Plus, they handle all the administrative and commercial aspects.

Joaquín took several seconds to answer. “And what about the workers?” That’s one of the advantages of the model. With technology, less labor is needed, so operating costs drop significantly. Less labor. Rodrigo, some of the families who work here have been with me since my father was alive.”

Joaquín, you have to understand that sentimentality can’t take precedence over efficiency. If you want this estate to survive in today’s market, you need to modernize. The discussion was getting heated, and Lucía decided it was time to make her presence known. She cleared her throat as she entered the hallway. “Sorry to interrupt.”

I’m Lucía Ramírez, the administrator of the Hacienda. Rodrigo looked her up and down with an expression that mixed surprise with something akin to recognition. Lucía Ramírez of Gestión Integral S. Lucía felt as if ice water had been thrown on her. We know each other indirectly.

I worked on some projects where your company provided consulting services. In fact, I believe you participated in the financial audit for the acquisition of several properties in this same region about eight months ago. The world seemed to stop. Joaquín looked at Lucía with an expression she couldn’t interpret, but which was clearly not good.

“What are you talking about?” Joaquín asked slowly. “Gestión Integral SAS was the consulting firm that advised large agricultural companies on rural land acquisition processes,” Rodrigo explained, clearly enjoying the moment. “They analyzed the financial viability of the farms, identified those with financial difficulties, and recommended acquisition strategies.”

Lucía felt her mouth go dry. “Joaquín, I can explain. Explain why you came here as a spy, why you’ve been appraising my property all this time to sell it to your friends in Bogotá.” “No, that’s not how it is. I resigned from that company precisely because I didn’t agree with those practices.”

“When exactly did you resign?” Rodrigo asked, his tone interrogative. “In February. Interesting, because the land acquisition project in the Eastern Plains took place between January and March of this year. You resigned right when the project ended.” Joaquín stood up abruptly. “Is that true, Lucía? You worked on a project to buy farms like mine?” Lucía realized that anything she said would sound like an excuse or a lie.

The truth was complicated, nuanced, and at that moment nobody had the patience for nuances. Yes, that’s true, but my job was purely technical. I did accounting analyses; I didn’t make decisions about which properties to buy or not. But did you know what your analyses were used for? Rodrigo insisted. Not at first. When I realized the implications, I tried to get myself transferred to another project.

When that wasn’t possible, I quit. “And you just happened to end up here at one of the farms that was on the target list?” Joaquín asked in a voice Lucía had never heard from him before. “I didn’t know this farm was on any list. I came here by chance looking for work.” “Come on, Lucía,” Rodrigo said. “Don’t you think it’s too much of a coincidence?” Esteban appeared in the doorway of the corridor, clearly drawn by the raised voices. When he saw everyone’s expressions, he immediately understood that something serious was going on.

“What’s going on here?” she asked. “It seems our administrator hasn’t told us the whole truth about her past,” Joaquín said bitterly. Lucía felt like every gaze was piercing her like a knife. In three months, she had built something beautiful in this place: relationships of trust, a job that gave her meaning, a new life that finally made her feel whole, and now it was all crumbling because of a past she had tried to leave behind. “Joaquín, please, let me explain.” “Explain what?” “That while…”

I trusted you. While I was opening my home to you and showing you all the problems on the farm, were you reporting to your former bosses? No, I never reported anything to anyone. I haven’t even spoken to my old company since I got here. But they know you’re here, Rodrigo interjected. In fact, they’re waiting for your report.

“What? What are you talking about?” Rodrigo smiled maliciously. “I made a few calls before coming here. Your former boss, Mr. Herrera, is very interested in what you’ve discovered about this ranch’s finances. Apparently, they consider it a very successful long-term infiltration.” Lucía felt like the world was crashing down on her.

Not only did Joaquín and Esteban look at her with distrust and pain, but now she understood that her former company had completely misinterpreted her situation. “Joaquín, you know me. You know that everything I’ve done here has been in good faith. The savings we achieved, the new contracts, the process improvements—all of that was an act.” “I don’t know, Lucía, right now I don’t know what to believe.”

The silence that followed was devastating. Lucía watched as three months of work, trust, and something more she didn’t dare name, vanished in a matter of minutes. “I think it’s best if she leaves,” Joaquín finally said, without looking her in the eye. “She’s leaving?” Esteban asked, surprised.

Boss, maybe we should listen, shouldn’t we? Esteban, I’ve heard enough. Lucía nodded slowly, feeling something break in her chest. Okay, but before I go, I want you to know something. Everything I feel for this place, for these people, for you, is real. Feelings can’t be faked for three months.

Without waiting for a reply, he headed toward the room that had been his home for the past few months. As he packed his few belongings, he heard the brothers’ argument continuing in the hallway. “This confirms what I told you, Joaquín. You need serious partners, real professionals, not infiltrators from companies in Bogotá.”

I don’t want to talk about it now, Rodrigo, but we need to talk. This ranch needs a decision, and it needs it soon. When Lucía left the room with her suitcase, the brothers were still arguing. No one saw her get on the bus that was passing by on the main road toward Villavicencio. From the bus window, she watched the ranch recede into the distance at dawn and felt as if she were leaving behind the only time in her life when she had been truly happy.

What she didn’t know was that Esteban had found something in the office that would change everything: a letter she had written but never sent, explaining in detail the reasons for her resignation from comprehensive management and her disagreement with the rural displacement practices. A letter that Joaquín would read that very night when it was already too late to stop the bus. Chapter 5.

The cost of pride. Three weeks had passed since Lucía left the ranch, and Joaquín hadn’t managed a single full night’s sleep. The letter Esteban found in the office was still on his nightstand, crumpled from being read so often. In it, Lucía had written, in her own handwriting, a resignation letter she never sent to Gestión Integral Sace, dated two weeks before she arrived at the ranch.

I can no longer be part of a process that displaces farming families from their ancestral lands. I understand market dynamics, but I cannot turn a blind eye to the human impact of our recommendations. My role as an accountant should be to create value, not destroy lives. Chatron didn’t sleep again, Doña Carmen told her that morning as she served her coffee. She’s going to get sick if she keeps this up.

I’m fine, Carmen. It’s not fine. And neither are we. Ever since Dr. Lucía left, you’ve been wandering around like a lost soul, and everything is going back to the way it was. It was true. Without Lucía, the organizational systems had begun to collapse. Invoices were piling up unchecked.

The new suppliers kept calling without getting an answer, and the contract with the Villavicencio hotels was at risk because no one knew how to handle the delivery logistics. Rodrigo had extended his stay, pressuring Joaquín every day to accept the proposal from Ganadería Integral SA. “Brother, you have to be realistic,” he had told him the night before.

“Without a competent administrator, you’re going to be back to the same problems as before. The company’s offer still stands, but it won’t be there forever.” “Let me think,” Joaquín had replied, though he no longer knew what to think. That morning, while he was checking on the cows that had calved during the week, Esteban approached him with a worried expression. “Boss, we have a big problem.”

What happened? The five cows that calved last week are showing strange symptoms. They don’t want to eat, they have fevers, and the calves look weak. Joaquín felt his blood run cold. An epidemic in the cattle was the last thing he needed right now. He called the vet. “Yes, but he says he can’t come until Thursday because he’s dealing with an outbreak of foot-and-mouth disease in Acacias.” “Foot-and-mouth disease?” Joaquín asked, alarmed. “It seems so.”

And if that’s the case, boss, we could lose the whole herd. Foot-and-mouth disease was a nightmare for any cattle rancher. Not only did it kill livestock, but health authorities could order the slaughter of all the animals on the farm to prevent it from spreading. “What do we do?” Esteban asked.

Joaquín took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of a responsibility he no longer knew how to handle. Without Lucía, he had realized how much he depended not only on his administrative knowledge, but also on his ability to solve problems and make decisions under pressure. “I don’t know, Esteban, honestly, I don’t know.”

In Bogotá, Lucía lived in a small apartment in the La Macarena neighborhood, working as a freelancer for small businesses that needed to organize their finances. It was a job that paid the bills, but it didn’t give her even a tenth of the satisfaction she had felt on the farm.

That morning she was reviewing the accounting books of a neighborhood store when her phone rang. It was a number she didn’t recognize, but it had the area code for Villa Vicencio. “Hello, Dr. Lucía. This is Carlos from the El Amanecer ranch.” Lucía felt her heart race. “Carlos, what’s wrong? Is everything alright?” “No, Doctor, we have a very serious problem.”

The cows are getting sick, and it looks like it’s foot-and-mouth disease. The boss is very worried because the vet can’t come until Thursday, and Esteban says that by then it might be too late. Why are you calling me, Carlos? I don’t work there anymore. Because Don Esteban asked me to call you. He says you always knew what to do when we had problems.

Lucía closed her eyes, feeling a mixture of pain and nostalgia. “Carlos, I’m not a veterinarian. I can’t help with livestock problems, but you have contacts, don’t you? Maybe you know a veterinarian who could come sooner.” Lucía remained silent for several seconds. The truth was, she did know someone: Dr. Martínez, a veterinarian specializing in bovine diseases, whom she had met during a project at her previous job.

It was expensive, but he was the best in his field. Let me see what I can do, he finally said. But Carlos, this has to stay between us. Okay? Yes, Doctor. Thank you very much. Lucía hung up and immediately dialed Dr. Martínez’s number. Doctor, this is Lucía Ramírez. We worked together on the comprehensive management project a year ago. Of course, Lucía. How are you? Fine, Doctor.

I’m calling because I have an emergency. There’s a farm in Meta with a possible outbreak of foot-and-mouth disease, and they need immediate attention. Meta. That’s far away, and my schedule is full until Friday. Doctor, it’s really urgent. They could lose the entire farm if they don’t act quickly.

Lucía, a trip to the finish line costs me two days of work plus travel expenses. Who’s going to pay for that? Lucía glanced at the small envelope where she kept the remaining savings from her severance pay. I’ll cover all the expenses. Are you sure? It’s about two million pesos between fees, medication, and travel.

It was practically all I had, but I didn’t hesitate for a second. I’m sure. You can go today. Let me rearrange my schedule. Yes, I can be there this afternoon. Perfect. I’ll send you the address. But, Doctor, there’s one condition. You can’t mention that I arranged this. Why? It’s complicated. Just say that another veterinary colleague gave you the contact.

That afternoon, Joaquín was with Rodrigo in the hallway, discussing the integrated livestock proposal for the umpteenth time, when a pickup truck they didn’t recognize arrived. “Were you expecting someone?” Rodrigo asked. “No.” An older man wearing overalls and rubber boots got out, carrying a briefcase of veterinary medicine. “Mr. Delgado, I’m Dr. Martínez, a veterinarian specializing in bovine diseases. I was told you have an emergency with your cattle.” Joaquín stood up immediately.

Yes, doctor, but I didn’t call you. Our regular vet can’t come until Thursday. A colleague gave me your contact information and said it was urgent. Where are the affected animals? Joaquín led him to the pasture where the sick cows were. Dr. Martínez examined them carefully, took blood samples, and after an hour gave them his diagnosis. It’s not foot-and-mouth disease, he announced.

It’s a bacterial infection caused by contaminated water, probably from a stagnant puddle where they drank. It’s serious, but treatable. Joaquín was so relieved he almost fainted. What do we need to do? Antibiotics for the affected cows. Serum for the calves, and we need to check all the water sources. With the right treatment, they’ll be perfectly fine in a week.

Dr. Martínez administered the necessary injections, left them with medication for the following days, and explained exactly how to continue the treatment. “Doctor, how much do I owe you?” Joaquín asked when they were finished. “It’s already paid for.” “What do you mean it’s already paid for? Who paid for it?” The person who hired me asked me not to say who it was, but assured me that you would understand. Joaquín felt something stir in his chest.

There was only one person who had reason to help him anonymously, and that same person was the one he had thrown out of his life without giving him a chance to explain. That night, after Rodrigo went to sleep, Joaquín went out into the hallway with Lucía’s letter in his hands.

She reread it for the tenth time, but now with different eyes. She saw not only the words of regret for her previous work, but also the date—two weeks before arriving at the Hacienda—which meant that she had made the decision to leave that world before even knowing it. It meant that her arrival had truly been accidental, that everything she had done in these months had been genuine.

And now, after he had treated her like a traitor, she had used her own savings to save his cattle. Esteban told the foreman the next morning, “I need you to take care of everything for a few days. I have to go to Bogotá to find Dr. Lucía.” Joaquín nodded. He should have read that letter before judging her. He should have listened to her. Better late than never, boss.

But if you’re going to look for her, bring a serious proposal. That woman isn’t going to come back just because of pretty words. Joaquín knew Esteban was right and knew exactly what proposal to bring her. Chapter 6. New Furrows. Joaquín hadn’t been to Bogotá since he was a university student, and the city immediately overwhelmed him. The constant noise, the polluted air, the crowds of people walking without looking at each other—everything the opposite of the tranquility of the plains.

He had gotten Lucía’s address through Carlos, who had stayed in touch with her after the call about the vet. The apartment was in an old, three-story building in La Macarena, a neighborhood that had seen better days.

When he rang the doorbell of apartment 2B, he heard slow footsteps approaching the door. There was a long pause before Lucía opened it. “Joaquín,” she said, clearly surprised, “What are you doing here?” She looked different, thinner with dark circles under her eyes, dressed in clothes that had once been elegant but now looked worn. It was as if the sparkle she had acquired in the countryside had faded.

“I came to talk to you. May I come in?” Lucía hesitated for a moment before stepping aside. The apartment was small and basic: a living-dining room, an open-plan kitchen, and a glimpse of a bedroom in the back. On the table were several computers, open laptops, and stacks of documents. She was clearly working from home.

“Do you want coffee?” Lucía asked, avoiding eye contact. “Yes, thank you.” While she made the coffee, Joaquín looked around. It was functional, but lacked personality, like a temporary place where someone waits until they can move on. “How did you know where I live?” Lucía asked, handing him a cup. “Carlos gave me the address. He was the one who called you when the cows got sick.”

Lucía tensed up immediately. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lucía. Dr. Martínez told me the truth. Well, he didn’t tell me your name, but it wasn’t hard to figure it out. There was only one person who had reasons to help me anonymously and the resources to pay a specialist veterinarian.” Lucía sat down on the sofa, resigned. “The cows are fine. Perfect.”

Thanks to you, we didn’t lose a single one. I’m glad to hear that. An awkward silence fell. Joaquín realized he’d rehearsed this moment the entire bus ride, but now that he was here, he didn’t know how to begin. Lucía, we found your letter. My letter, the resignation you wrote to Gestión Integral, but never sent. Esteban found it in the office after you left.

Lucía closed her eyes and sighed deeply. “Ah, that letter, why didn’t you ever send it?” “Because I was a coward,” she replied bitterly. “I wrote that letter when I realized the true implications of my job, but I didn’t have the courage to send it. Instead of confronting my bosses, I simply resigned without explanation and left.” “But you resigned, that’s what matters.”

It’s important because when I arrived at your ranch, I didn’t have the courage to tell you about my past, and when your brother confronted me, I didn’t know how to explain something I didn’t fully understand myself. Joaquín leaned forward. Lucía, I came here to ask for your forgiveness and to ask if you want to come back. Lucía looked at him in surprise.

Joaquín, after what happened, after what happened, I realized several things. First, that I was an idiot for not listening to you when you tried to explain. Second, that the ranch doesn’t function the same without you. And third, that I miss you. He said the last sentence in a low voice, but Lucía heard it clearly.

Joaquín, but I didn’t come just to ask you to come back as administrator. I came with a different proposal. Joaquín took a folder out of his backpack and placed it on the table. What’s this? A 50/50 partnership proposal. Your name on the ownership documents. Shared decisions. Shared profits. Lucía opened the folder with trembling hands.

Indeed, there were legal documents already prepared to formalize an equitable partnership. Are you crazy? I don’t have the capital to contribute to such a partnership. Yes, you do. You have knowledge, you have contacts, you have ideas, and you also have something worth more than money. You have passion for what you do. Joaquín, this is very generous, but you don’t understand. My reputation in the industry is tarnished.

After what happened with your brother, who I’m sure has already told everyone, Rodrigo left the day after you left and he’s not going to say anything because I made him understand that if he did, he wouldn’t be welcome on the ranch either. What happened to the integrated livestock proposal? I rejected it. I don’t want partners telling me how to manage my land and firing people who have worked with me their whole lives.

Lucía silently glanced through the documents, reading the clauses Joaquín had had a lawyer draft. “It says here that the company includes plans to create a regional cooperative. That was your original idea, remember? To bring together several small producers to have more negotiating power. It’s a very ambitious and very risky idea.”

The best ideas are always risky. Lucía closed the folder and looked out the window. Joaquín, I have to be honest with you. These last few months in Bogotá have made me understand something about myself. I’m not cut out for office life, for working with abstract numbers that mean nothing, but I’m not sure I’m cut out for country life either.

Why? Because it’s very hard physically, emotionally, and financially. In the countryside, there are no guarantees of anything. A drought, a livestock disease, a change in prices, and everything can fall apart. That’s true, but there are also satisfactions that don’t exist anywhere else. Lucía nodded slowly. I know.

And that’s my internal struggle. The rational part of my mind tells me to stay here, to find a stable job at a solid company, with a fixed salary and benefits. But, but, but the emotional part tells me that the three happiest months of my life were at your ranch, that for the first time I felt my work had real purpose, that I was building something important.

Joaquín got up from the sofa and went over to the window where Lucía was. “Then come back, not as an employee, but as a partner. Let’s build something together. And if it doesn’t work, and if we fail, well, we fail together. But at least we’ll have tried.” Lucía remained silent for several minutes.

Joaquín could see she was fighting an internal battle between security and adventure, between the known and the unknown. “There’s something else I need to know,” she finally said. “Is this just a business partnership, or is it something more?” Joaquín hesitated before answering, but when he did, he looked her straight in the eye. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

What I do know is that these three months without you have made me realize how important you are to me, not just as an administrator, but as a person. But I understand that we first have to rebuild trust, and that takes time. Yes, it takes time, Lucía agreed. And we have to be very clear about expectations and boundaries. That means you accept.

Lucía smiled for the first time since he had arrived. “That means I’m going to try, but with conditions.” “What are they?” “First, everything has to be in writing. Clear contracts, defined responsibilities, conflict resolution mechanisms—no more misunderstandings.” “Okay?” “Second, if we’re going to form a cooperative, it has to be something serious, sustainable, not an experiment.”

We need a solid business plan, adequate funding, and a long-term commitment. Perfect. And third, I need time to get my affairs in order here. I have commitments to some clients that I can’t abandon. How much time? Two weeks. Joaquín extended his hand. Deal.

Lucía shook her hand firmly. Deal. But this time we’re going to do it right from the start. When Joaquín left that afternoon, Lucía stared at the partnership documents on her desk. For the first time in months, she felt that the future held real possibilities for happiness. She didn’t know that the next two years would test this partnership in ways neither of them could have imagined, but that in the end, it would forge them into something far stronger than they were separately. Epilogue.

Two years later, the main office of the Ylanos Unidos cooperative was now located in what had previously been the guesthouse of the El Amanecer ranch. Lucía was reviewing the second-quarter financial statements while listening to the voices of the delegates from the 14 member farms who had gathered for the monthly meeting. “The numbers are good,” she announced, looking up from the documents.

Direct sales to hotels and restaurants in Bogotá and Villavicencio increased by 35% compared to the same period last year. A murmur of approval rippled through the group. Esteban, who now held the official title of regional operations coordinator, smiled with satisfaction. “And what about transportation costs?” asked Don Ramiro, an acacia cattle rancher who had been one of the most skeptical at first.

“That’s the advantage of the cooperative,” Joaquín replied, entering the room with mud-caked boots and a tired smile. By consolidating deliveries from all the farms, the transportation cost per liter was reduced by 40%. It hadn’t been easy getting there. The first few months after Lucía’s return were filled with hard work and constant negotiations.

Convincing other farmers to join the cooperative required door-to-door visits and presentations in which Lucía explained figures and projections while Joaquín spoke of tradition and solidarity. The first major obstacle arose when three of the founding farmers wanted to withdraw after a temporary drop in prices.

The cooperative had to refinance its debts and urgently seek new markets. Lucía spent two months traveling between Bogotá, Medellín, and the coast, establishing contacts with artisanal processors and supermarket chains specializing in regional products. The second obstacle was more personal.

Rodrigo returned six months later with a lawsuit, arguing that he had rights to part of the family estate. The process lasted almost a year and cost a small fortune in lawyers, but it was finally resolved when Joaquín managed to prove that his brother had formally relinquished any claim to the property when he left to study engineering in Medellín.

“And the new processing plant?” asked Doña Esperanza, the only woman among the founding ranchers, who managed a small but very efficient farm. “The construction is on schedule,” replied Lucía. “In three months we’ll be producing our own cheeses, yogurts, and butter. We already have confirmed orders from five supermarkets in Bogotá.”

The processing plant had been the cooperative’s most ambitious project. It required a bank loan backed by all the member farms, health permits that took months to obtain, and the hiring of a master cheesemaker whom Lucía had found at a food fair in the capital.

“And the young people?” asked Carlos, who now had his own small farm thanks to a credit program the cooperative had developed with the Agricultural Bank. “The training program is going very well,” Esteban replied. “We already have 12 young people certified in silvopastoral systems management and three more studying agricultural technology with scholarships from the cooperative.” That had been a special achievement for Lucía.

He had realized that many young people from rural areas were leaving for the cities not because they lacked love for the countryside, but because of a lack of educational and economic opportunities. The cooperative had established a scholarship fund and a low-interest loan program so that the children of its members could study and then return to manage more technologically advanced operations.

When the meeting ended and everyone had left, Lucía and Joaquín stayed behind, organizing the papers. It was a routine they had developed. After each meeting, they reviewed together what had worked well and what needed adjusting. “Tired?” Joaquín asked, noticing Lucía rubbing her temples. “A little, but it’s a good kind of tired.”

It was true. Unlike the empty exhaustion he felt in Bogotá, this weariness came with satisfaction. Every day he saw concrete results from his work: families who could afford to send their children to school, farms that were being modernized without losing their essence, young people who were choosing to stay in the countryside because they saw a future there.

“Do you regret anything?” Joaquín asked her as they walked toward the main house. “Leaving the city, not betting everything on this project, nor taking so long to be honest with you about my past.” Every day their personal relationship had evolved slowly, carefully. For the first year they were partners and friends, nothing more.

But gradually, amidst late-night conversations about future plans and moments of crisis they faced together, something deeper had developed. They hadn’t made any dramatic announcements or grand declarations. One day, Lucía simply realized she was no longer sleeping in the guest room, but in the master bedroom with Joaquín.

And he realized that when he thought about the future, he automatically thought about us. No, about me. The regional television crew is arriving tomorrow, Lucía reminded him. They’re going to do a report on successful cooperatives. I hope they don’t ask me very technical questions. That’s what you’re here for. Lucía smiled. They had found a perfect balance.

He handled everything related to production, land, and livestock. She took care of finance, marketing, and external relations. But they always made the important decisions together. “Do you know what I like most about this?” Lucía said as they sat on the porch watching the sunset, a custom they had maintained since the first day.

What? That we’re proving things can be done differently? That you don’t have to choose between being traditional and being innovative, between caring for the land and being profitable, between maintaining jobs and being efficient. “My dad would be proud,” Joaquín said, gazing at the horizon where the cattle grazed peacefully. “I think he’s proud. However, not everything was perfect.”

The cooperative still faced constant challenges: unfair competition from large companies, government bureaucracy, and weather problems that affected production. There were good months and difficult months, and there was always uncertainty about whether they could sustain long-term growth.

Furthermore, Lucía had learned that rural life had its own complications. The workdays were long, vacations were rare, and there was always some emergency to attend to. It wasn’t the romantic life some city people imagined, but hard work that required total dedication. But there were also rewards that couldn’t be measured in money, like the morning Carlos proudly showed them his first dairy cow, bought with his own savings.

Or when Doña Esperanza managed to get her son to return from Medellín to study agricultural administration. Or when the mayor of Puerto López invited them to present the cooperative model in other municipalities. “What are you thinking about?” Joaquín asked, noticing that Lucía had fallen silent. “That three years ago I was an unemployed accountant who arrived here knowing nothing about livestock farming, and now I’m coordinating a cooperative of 14 farms that generates employment for more than 60 families.” “Do you feel fulfilled?” Lucía considered the question seriously before

To answer. Yes, but I also know this is just the beginning. We have plans to reach 20 partner farms next year. We want to develop rural tourism and are exploring exporting organic products—always thinking big, someone has to do it.

That night, as she reviewed her plans for the following week, Lucía reflected on the path she had traveled. It hadn’t been linear or easy. There had been moments of doubt, mistakes to correct, and relationships to rebuild. But every step had led her to where she was now, in a place that felt like home, doing work that gave her purpose alongside someone who understood and complemented her.

The phone rang, interrupting her thoughts. It was a call from a cattle rancher in Casanare who had heard about the cooperative and wanted information on how to become a member. Lucía smiled as she jotted down notes. Tomorrow she would have another trip, another presentation, and another opportunity to convince someone else that it was possible to do things differently, and she couldn’t wait to get started.

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