CHAPTER 10 – THE LETTER
The letter wasn't written to comfort Isabella.
It was written to control her.
Even after my death.
Beatriz had prepared instructions telling Isabella that I had abandoned her.
That I had chosen business over family.
That Beatriz was the only person who had ever truly cared for her.
It was psychological poison.
But there was something else inside the envelope.
A revised trust document.
Forged.
It placed Beatriz in control of Isabella's inheritance until age thirty.
Elena read it twice.
“She planned years ahead.”
I stared at the signature.
Mine.
Perfectly copied.
Except for one tiny detail.
I always crossed the second stroke of the N in Navarro.
The forgery didn't.
“How long can she go to prison?”
“A long time.”
“Long enough?”
Elena understood what I meant.
“No sentence will feel long enough.”
The criminal case expanded.
Child abuse.
Fraud.
Forgery.
Conspiracy.
Theft.
Drugging.
Attempted kidnapping.
Arson conspiracy.
Beatriz denied everything.
At first.
She claimed Alejandro manipulated her.
Then she claimed Mateo fabricated evidence.
Then she claimed Isabella was disturbed.
That was the mistake that destroyed whatever sympathy remained.
During a preliminary hearing, Beatriz's attorney argued that Isabella had behavioral problems.
I sat behind Elena.
My fists tightened.
Then the prosecutor played the kitchen footage.
The courtroom watched an eight-year-old girl scrub floors before sunrise.
Watched Beatriz deny her breakfast.
Watched her turn the camera before locking Isabella outside.
Nobody looked at Beatriz afterward.
The judge denied bail.
She was remanded into custody.
Outside the courthouse, reporters surrounded us.
I said nothing.
This wasn't entertainment.
It was my daughter's life.
Months passed.
Isabella returned to school.
Not her old school.
A smaller one.
Closer to home.
I attended every meeting.
Every therapy appointment.
Every school event.
My company survived without me traveling constantly.
That discovery was humiliating.
For years, I had told myself I was indispensable.
I wasn't.
No businessman is.
But to Isabella?
I was.
One evening, she brought home a drawing.
Three people stood outside a house.
Me.
Isabella.
Mateo.
I smiled.
“What's this?”
“My family.”
My throat tightened.
Then she added another figure.
A woman.
I froze.
“Who's that?”
“Mom.”
Sofia.
She had drawn her from photographs.
“She can still be family even if she's dead, right?”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Always.”
Isabella smiled.
Then she pointed at the house.
“I put my room here.”
It had a giant window.
Flowers.
Books.
No cleaning supplies.
I laughed.
“Looks expensive.”
She giggled.
“You're rich.”
It was the first joke she had made about money since everything happened.
Then her smile disappeared.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Do I have to talk in court?”
The trial was approaching.
Prosecutors hoped to avoid it.
But Beatriz's lawyers were challenging parts of Isabella's testimony.
“I don't know yet.”
She looked scared.
“What if she looks at me?”
I moved closer.
“Then you look at me.”
“What if I forget what to say?”
“You tell the truth.”
“What if I cry?”
“Then you cry.”
She thought about that.
“What if she says I'm lying?”
I took her hand.
“Then she lies.”
Isabella looked at me.
“And we keep telling the truth.”
She nodded.
May you like
The trial began three weeks later.
On the second day, the prosecutor called Isabella Navarro to the witness stand.
