Chapter 5 - The Room Behind the Library
Sebastián reached Alcázar House at 10:37 p.m.
The gates were locked.
His access code had been removed.
That told him everything.
He drove through the side barrier.
Metal screamed beneath the SUV.
Security guards ran toward him.
Sebastián stepped out.
“Anyone who touches me tonight will be unemployed tomorrow.”
Nobody moved.
He entered the house.
The library was empty.
But a lamp was burning.
On the desk sat a bottle of whiskey.
Two glasses.
One had lipstick on the rim.
His mother had been there.
Sebastián searched the shelves.
His grandfather’s trust documents were missing.
Then he noticed scratches on the floor.
Behind a bookcase.
He pushed.
Nothing.
Then he remembered Gabriel.
When they were boys, Gabriel used to disappear inside the library.
Sebastián had always assumed he used the terrace door.
He pulled one particular volume.
The bookcase clicked.
A narrow door opened.
Behind it was a staircase.
Sebastián descended.
At the bottom was a room.
Not old.
Not abandoned.
Modern monitors covered one wall.
Files filled cabinets.
Photographs were pinned across another.
Valeria.
Dozens of photographs.
Valeria leaving restaurants.
Valeria visiting doctors.
Valeria sleeping.
Valeria crying in the garden.
Valeria standing alone in the nursery.
Sebastián felt sick.
Someone had been documenting his wife for years.
Then he saw himself.
Photographs of him too.
Meetings.
Flights.
Arguments.
Even private moments inside his office.
On the desk sat a recorder.
He pressed play.
His mother’s voice filled the room.
“Sebastián must never believe her before the child is born.”
Octavio answered.
“And afterward?”
Rebeca paused.
“Afterward, it won’t matter.”
Sebastián stopped the recording.
His hands were shaking.
A second file sat beside it.
GABRIEL.
He opened it.
Inside were medical reports.
Bank transfers.
Passports.
Six years of payments.
Gabriel had been alive the entire time.
Then Sebastián found another folder.
VALERIA — PHASE THREE.
He opened it.
The first page contained a photograph of Valeria’s bruised legs.
Taken three weeks earlier.
Before the hospital.
Someone had known.
Someone had photographed the injuries.
And done nothing.
Behind the photograph was a typed schedule.
10:45 — Mother secured.
11:00 — Child transferred.
11:30 — Trust acknowledgment.
11:55 — Signature.
12:00 — Irrevocable.
Sebastián looked at the clock.
10:51.
He had sixty-four minutes.
Then he heard a baby cry.
Above him.
Sebastián ran.
He followed the sound through the library.
Into the main hall.
Upstairs.
The crying came from Gabriel’s old bedroom.
Sebastián opened the door.
His daughter lay inside a bassinet.
Alone.
He rushed toward her.
Then the lights came on.
Alejandro Alcázar stood behind him.
May you like
And pressed a gun against his son’s back.
“You should have stayed at the hospital.”
