CHAPTER 12 – THE VERDICT
The jury deliberated for nine hours.
Nine hours felt longer than three months in Dubai.
I didn't care about the financial charges anymore.
Money could be replaced.
Companies could recover.
Property could be rebuilt.
I cared about one thing.
Whether Isabella would leave that courthouse knowing the world had believed her.
At 6:17 p.m., the jury returned.
Guilty.
Fraud.
Guilty.
Forgery.
Guilty.
Child abuse.
Guilty.
Conspiracy.
Guilty.
Theft.
Guilty.
Attempted kidnapping conspiracy.
Guilty.
Count after count.
Beatriz didn't move.
Then the clerk read the final guilty verdict.
Her face collapsed.
Not from guilt.
From losing.
That was when I understood her completely.
She had never been sorry.
Only caught.
Sentencing came later.
Twenty-eight years.
Alejandro received twelve after cooperation.
Lucía received four.
Several others involved in the financial conspiracy received lesser sentences.
But none of those numbers mattered to Isabella.
When I told her Beatriz couldn't hurt her anymore, she asked one question.
“Can we go home now?”
Home.
The villa in Marbella still belonged to us.
But I wasn't sure it was home anymore.
“Do you want to?”
She thought carefully.
“Can we change it?”
“How?”
“My room.”
“Absolutely.”
“And the basement?”
“What about it?”
“I don't want it there.”
So we changed everything.
The little servant room became storage.
Then Isabella changed her mind.
She wanted it turned into an art room.
“Why?”
She shrugged.
“So something good happens there.”
That was smarter than anything I could have suggested.
The basement room became a wine cellar again.
Everything Beatriz had hidden was removed.
Sofia's photographs returned to Isabella's room.
The jewelry that hadn't been sold was restored.
Several pieces that had been sold were recovered through investigators.
Including the gold bracelet.
I gave it back to Isabella.
She held it carefully.
“Mom's?”
“Yes.”
She put it around her wrist.
“Do you think she'd be mad?”
“At what?”
“That I lost it.”
“You didn't lose it.”
“She'd know that?”
“She'd know.”
Isabella smiled.
Then she hugged me.
That night, after she went to sleep, I stood alone on the terrace.
The same terrace where I had watched Beatriz drink cocktails while my daughter dragged garbage through the mud.
Mateo joined me.
“You're thinking too much.”
“I do that.”
“Your father did too.”
I smiled.
“He also worked too much.”
“Yes.”
“So did I.”
Mateo didn't disagree.
“I almost missed everything.”
“But you didn't.”
“That's not enough.”
“No.”
He looked toward Isabella's window.
“But it is a beginning.”
I nodded.
A beginning.
That was what we had.
Then Mateo handed me an envelope.
“What is this?”
“I found it in my truck.”
“When?”
“Before Portugal.”
Inside was a drawing.
Isabella had made it months earlier.
It showed a man standing beside an airplane.
A little girl stood below.
Between them, she had drawn a dotted line.
At the bottom were four words.
Daddy, please come back.
I stared at it for a long time.
Then I turned it over.
There was another sentence on the back.
When you come back, please see me.
I closed my eyes.
She hadn't needed another toy.
Another dress.
Another vacation.
May you like
She had needed me to see her.
And I had almost been too late.
