Chapter 9 - Beatriz’s Secret
Beatriz stared at the ledger as if the paper had betrayed her.
Alejandro repeated the question.
“What did they pay you for?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I never saw that account.”
Dad examined the page.
“The transfer went to a private account in Switzerland.”
“I have never had a Swiss account.”
Gabriel stepped closer.
“We can verify that.”
“Do it.”
Beatriz looked furious now.
Not frightened.
“Someone put my name there.”
I believed that was possible.
Forged records had already been part of the old scheme.
But then I noticed the date.
Three days after my mother died.
“Why would anyone create a payment in your name after the murder?”
She flinched at the word.
Murder.
Until that day, none of us had said it so plainly.
Alejandro sat opposite her.
“Think.”
“I am thinking.”
“What happened after Isabel died?”
Beatriz looked at Dad.
“You blamed Federico.”
“Yes.”
“You threatened him.”
“Yes.”
That surprised me.
“What?”
Dad did not look at me.
“I was grieving.”
“What did you do?”
“I told Federico that if I discovered he had caused your mother’s death, I would destroy everything he owned.”
Alejandro’s jaw tightened.
“My father lived under that threat?”
“He knew why.”
Beatriz slammed her palm on the desk.
“And that gave you no right to terrorize us for twenty years.”
Dad’s eyes hardened.
“Someone murdered my wife.”
“And I lost my husband long before he died.”
The room went silent.
Beatriz’s anger cracked.
Tears spilled down her face.
“After Isabel died, Federico stopped sleeping.”
“He stopped eating.”
“He sat in this room for hours.”
“He checked the windows.”
“He changed our security.”
“He would wake at three in the morning and walk the halls.”
“He said someone was watching us.”
Alejandro stared at her.
“You never told me.”
“You were fourteen.”
“So was Valeria.”
Beatriz looked at me.
That was the first time she seemed to understand how similar our childhoods had been.
Both fourteen.
Both living inside houses where terrified parents decided silence was protection.
“What happened to the payment?” I asked.
She wiped her face.
“I don’t know.”
“Did Federico ever accuse you?”
“No.”
“Did anyone approach you after Isabel’s death?”
Her eyes shifted.
There.
A memory.
“Who?”
“A lawyer.”
Dad leaned forward.
“Name.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Try.”
“He said he represented one of Vanguardia’s insurance companies.”
“What did he want?”
“He asked whether Federico had given me documents.”
“And?”
“I said no.”
“Did he offer money?”
Beatriz looked at the ledger again.
“No.”
Then her expression changed.
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“He told me there had been an error in an investment account.”
“He said money belonging to Federico might temporarily appear under my name.”
Alejandro looked sick.
“You accepted that?”
“I didn’t understand.”
“You didn’t ask?”
“I was thirty-three years old with a fourteen-year-old son and a husband who barely spoke to me.”
She turned toward him.
“I was scared.”
I looked at my father.
“Could the payment have been used to make Beatriz look involved?”
“Yes.”
“Insurance.”
“Leverage.”
“Blackmail.”
Gabriel nodded.
“If someone needed her silent, a fake payment record would be useful.”
Beatriz sat back.
“They framed me.”
“Possibly.”
“Why?”
Dad’s expression tightened.
“Because Federico knew too much.”
“And if he spoke, they could accuse his wife.”
Alejandro looked toward the ledger.
“Who are ‘they’?”
We began reading.
Many names were unfamiliar.
Some belonged to shell corporations.
One appeared repeatedly.
M.C.
No full name.
Just initials.
Payments authorized.
Meetings scheduled.
Instructions.
At the bottom of one page, Federico had handwritten a note.
M.C. CONTROLS R.S.
Ricardo Salazar.
“M.C. controlled Ricardo,” I said.
Dad nodded.
“Apparently.”
“Who is M.C.?”
Nobody knew.
Then the digital recorder crackled.
Gabriel’s technician had restored enough power to play the first file.
Static filled the room.
Then Federico’s voice.
Older.
Tired.
“If anyone finds this, the ledger is incomplete.”
We all froze.
His breathing sounded heavy.
“The name you need is not written in full.”
A pause.
“I was too afraid.”
Another pause.
Then Federico whispered.
“M.C. is the reason Isabel died.”
My hands turned cold.
Dad stepped toward the recorder.
Federico continued.
“Lucía discovered the payments.”
“Isabel discovered the forged authorizations.”
“I told Ricardo that we were going to the authorities.”
“That was my mistake.”
“I did not know Ricardo was answering to someone else.”
A long silence.
Then footsteps in the recording.
Federico’s voice became quieter.
“If Valeria ever hears this, tell her Arturo did not kill her mother.”
My father closed his eyes.
“He was framed.”
Another pause.
“And if Alejandro hears it…”
Federico stopped.
We waited.
Then he said something that made Beatriz gasp.
“…ask his mother why she met M.C. at the Hotel Imperial the night Isabel died.”
The recording ended.
Everyone looked at Beatriz.
She had gone completely white.
Alejandro stood slowly.
“Mom.”
“I can explain.”
My heart hammered.
“You told us you didn’t know who M.C. was.”
“I don’t know who the initials belong to.”
“You met someone.”
“Yes.”
“The night my mother was killed.”
“Yes.”
Dad moved toward her.
Gabriel stepped between them.
Beatriz started crying.
“I didn’t know.”
“Who did you meet?”
“A woman.”
“What woman?”
Beatriz looked directly at me.
“Her name was Mariana Cruz.”
Cruz.
I thought of the driver.
Esteban Cruz.
My mother’s driver.
Beatriz continued.
“She told me my husband was having an affair.”
Alejandro froze.
“With who?”
May you like
Beatriz looked at the photograph of Lucía Serrano.
“With Camila’s mother.”
