My Father

Until now, we believed that everything had already been said about the infamous drug lord of all time, Pablo Escobar. Now, more than two decades after the manhunt fi nally caught up with Escobar, his son, Juan, brings us the dramatic truth as never before in his latest book, Pablo Escobar: My Father—a shocking look at the consequences of a life of violence and a son’s attempt to come to terms with it. In this extract he shares with us one of the many traumatic times in his life—his father’s death...

- Juan Pablo Escobar

ON DECEMBER 2, MY FATHER

woke up a little earlier than usual and turned on the radio he used to get news about us. Meanwhile, though still exhausted from travelling to Europe and back in less than forty-eight hours, we got up at seven in the morning. I received several phone calls requesting interviews with the media, both local outlets and some of the most prominent ones in Europe, Asia, and the United States, and I responded to all that we would not be issuing any statements. The day before, I’d said a few brief words on the radio to let my father know, in my own voice, that we were OK and to send him a birthday greeting.

At about one in the afternoon, after we’d had lunch sent up to our room, we got a call to inform us that four army generals would be coming to speak with the family. There was no way to refuse the meeting. After a few pleasantries, they assured us that one hundred soldiers were protecting the building and that they were ordering the evacuation of the rest of the twenty-ninth floor.

As we were talking, the telephone rang, and I answered as usual. It was the receptionist.

“Sir, good afternoon, I have Mr. Pablo Escobar on the line, and he wishes to speak with you.”

“Hi, Grandma, how are you doing? Don’t worry, we’re fine, we’re doing OK,” I told my father, knowing he would understand that I wasn’t alone. I reluctantly hung up even though I was desperate to talk to him.

As we continued our conversation with the generals, I was afraid my father wouldn’t call back, yet five minutes later the phone rang again.

“Grandma, please don’t call again, we’re fine,” I repeated, but he told me not to hang up and asked for my mother, who hurried into the next room.