Chapter 5 - My Father’s First Lie
I had seen Arturo Mendoza negotiate billion-dollar acquisitions without blinking.
I had seen him walk into funerals without crying.
I had seen him receive threats and respond by asking whether the person making them preferred coffee or tea.
But when Camila mentioned my mother, my father sat down.
That frightened me more than anything else that morning.
“Tell me.”
He looked at the people in the room.
“Everyone out.”
“No.”
“Valeria.”
“Alejandro stays.”
Alejandro looked surprised.
So did I.
But if Camila’s plan involved both families, I wanted witnesses.
Beatriz started to speak.
“You too.”
She stopped.
Dad looked at her.
“Beatriz may stay.”
That surprised everyone.
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because she may know more than she realizes.”
Beatriz turned pale.
Security closed the doors.
My father folded his hands.
“Your mother’s death was an accident.”
I almost shouted.
“Then why did you react like that?”
“Because the accident happened after she discovered something.”
My heart hammered.
“What?”
Dad looked older.
“Grupo Vanguardia was much smaller then.”
“I know.”
“We were expanding into public infrastructure.”
“You told me this.”
“What I didn’t tell you was that several people around me were using our contracts to move illegal money.”
The room became quiet.
My father continued.
“Your mother found irregular payments.”
“She handled charitable programs.”
“How would she find them?”
“Because some payments were being disguised through foundations.”
I remembered my mother’s office.
Stacks of folders.
Her handwriting.
Her obsession with receipts.
“She confronted you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know?”
“No.”
I wanted to believe him.
I still did.
“What happened?”
“She started investigating.”
“Alone?”
“At first.”
“Then?”
“She told one person.”
My father’s eyes moved toward Alejandro.
Not because Alejandro was involved.
Because the surname would matter.
“Federico de la Vega.”
Alejandro’s face drained.
“My father?”
Beatriz stood.
“That is impossible.”
Arturo looked at her.
“You were married to him then.”
“I know where my husband was.”
“Do you?”
Her mouth closed.
I looked at Dad.
“Why Federico?”
“Your mother trusted him.”
“Why?”
“Because Federico and I had been friends.”
Alejandro whispered, “You knew my father?”
“For many years.”
That revelation hit all of us.
The De la Vegas had spent years trying to obtain meetings with Arturo Mendoza.
At least, that was what Alejandro had believed.
But their fathers already had history.
“What happened between you?” Alejandro asked.
My father ignored him.
I did not.
“No.”
I pointed toward Alejandro.
“Answer him.”
Dad’s jaw tightened.
“Federico and I stopped speaking after Isabel died.”
My mother.
I felt suddenly cold.
“Because you blamed him?”
“Yes.”
Beatriz looked horrified.
“For what?”
“He told someone about her investigation.”
“Who?”
“I never proved it.”
I heard the danger inside that sentence.
Not I don’t know.
I never proved it.
“Who did you suspect?”
Dad took a long breath.
“Ricardo Salazar’s older brother.”
Every piece of the morning shifted.
Ricardo.
Camila.
My mother.
Federico.
The stolen file.
None of it had started with my divorce.
It had started decades earlier.
Alejandro sat down.
“My father knew about corruption at Vanguardia?”
“He knew something.”
“Did he participate?”
“I don’t know.”
Beatriz shook her head violently.
“No.”
Everyone looked at her.
She stared at the carpet.
Then she whispered.
“Federico kept documents.”
Alejandro turned.
“What documents?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mom.”
“I saw him with them.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“How many?”
“A box.”
Dad stood.
“What box?”
Beatriz looked at him.
“Blue.”
My chest tightened.
Of course it was blue.
Not the same folder.
But suddenly the color felt like an omen.
“What was inside?”
“I never opened it.”
Dad’s voice sharpened.
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Beatriz.”
“I said I don’t know.”
She stood.
“After Federico died, I searched his study.”
Alejandro looked shocked.
“You told me you never touched his private papers.”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
She looked at Dad.
“Because the night before his heart attack, Federico said something strange.”
“What?”
“He said if anything happened to him, the Mendoza family must never find the blue box.”
Nobody breathed.
My father’s face became stone.
I stared at Beatriz.
“And you decided to hide that from us?”
“I didn’t know what he meant.”
“You knew enough to search.”
“Yes.”
“Did you find it?”
“No.”
Alejandro stepped closer.
“Who else knew?”
Beatriz hesitated.
That hesitation terrified me.
“Camila asked about your father’s study once.”
Alejandro stared at her.
“When?”
“Six months ago.”
I remembered the bracelet.
Six months ago.
Around the same period my father’s board first received the De la Vega financing proposal.
Camila had already been inside the family.
“She asked whether we kept Federico’s old records,” Beatriz continued.
“I thought she was helping Alejandro find property files.”
Alejandro’s voice dropped.
“I never asked her to do that.”
Beatriz slowly sat down.
The room became completely silent.
Camila had searched Alejandro’s company.
Camila had questioned Beatriz about Federico’s records.
Camila had entered Vanguardia headquarters.
And Camila knew about my mother’s death.
I looked at my father.
“She wasn’t hired because of the financing.”
“No.”
“She used the financing to get close to both families.”
“Yes.”
“What was she looking for?”
Dad’s answer was almost a whisper.
“Proof.”
“Of what?”
“That someone killed your mother.”
I stopped breathing.
Alejandro stepped forward.
“Mr. Mendoza.”
My father did not look at him.
Twenty-two years of my life cracked open in a single sentence.
My mother’s death had always been painful.
But pain has edges.
You learn where they are.
You learn how to walk around them.
This had no edges.
This was a hole opening beneath me.
I gripped the table.
“Was her car accident investigated?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Brake failure.”
“Mechanical?”
“That was the official finding.”
“Official?”
Dad looked at me.
“I had a private investigator inspect the car.”
My mouth went dry.
“What did he find?”
“The brake line had been cut.”
Alejandro swore softly.
I stared at my father.
“You knew.”
“For twenty-two years.”
“You knew someone killed Mom.”
“I suspected.”
“You knew enough to hire investigators.”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me.”
“I was protecting you.”
“No.”
My voice broke.
“You were protecting yourself from having to tell me.”
He flinched.
It was small.
But I saw it.
For the first time in my life, my father looked ashamed.
Then Gabriel’s radio crackled outside.
A second later, he entered without knocking.
“Mr. Mendoza.”
Dad turned.
“We found Camila’s apartment.”
“And?”
“She’s gone.”
“Did she take everything?”
“No.”
Gabriel looked at me.
“She left something behind.”
“What?”
“A photograph.”
He handed it to me.
My mother stood outside Grupo Vanguardia’s original offices.
She looked young.
Alive.
Beside her stood my father.
Federico de la Vega.
And Ricardo Salazar.
But there was someone else in the photograph.
A woman I had never seen.
Her face had been circled in red ink.
May you like
On the back, one sentence had been written.
ASK BEATRIZ WHO SHE IS.
