CHAPTER 2 – THE LOCKED DOOR
I reached the doorway before Beatriz did.
She stopped inches from me.
“Move.”
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Daniel, don't be dramatic.”
Behind me, Isabella was crying.
Not loudly.
Those frightened little breaths were somehow worse.
I closed the bedroom door.
“What is she afraid you're going to do?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why did she scream?”
Beatriz looked past me.
“Because you've spent the last twenty minutes convincing her that I'm some kind of monster.”
I turned toward Isabella.
“Why can't she leave?”
My daughter wiped her face.
“She'll get rid of it.”
Beatriz froze.
I noticed.
“Get rid of what?”
Isabella pointed toward the hallway.
“The camera.”
My heart stopped.
“What camera?”
Beatriz immediately laughed.
“There is no camera.”
Isabella looked at me.
“Yes, there is.”
“Where?”
“The kitchen.”
I walked downstairs.
Fast.
Isabella followed.
So did Beatriz.
“Daniel, this is insane.”
I entered the kitchen.
Nothing looked unusual.
Then Isabella pointed toward a small black dome near the ceiling.
Security camera.
Of course.
I had installed cameras throughout the villa after a burglary attempt two years earlier.
I had almost forgotten about them.
Beatriz hadn't.
I turned toward her.
She had gone pale.
“Where are the recordings stored?”
“I don't know.”
“You do.”
“Daniel—”
“Where?”
She said nothing.
I pulled out my phone and called Javier Morales, head of security for my company.
He answered immediately.
“Mr. Navarro?”
“Javier, I need access to the Marbella villa security system.”
A pause.
“You should already have access.”
“I don't.”
Another pause.
“That account was changed.”
“When?”
“Approximately ten weeks ago.”
I looked at Beatriz.
“By whom?”
“I'd need to check.”
“Check.”
Beatriz suddenly reached for my phone.
I stepped away.
“What are you doing?”
“Stopping you from humiliating me.”
“You're doing that yourself.”
Javier returned.
“Mr. Navarro?”
“Yes?”
“The administrator account was changed under Mrs. Navarro's authorization.”
Of course.
“Can you restore my access?”
“Yes.”
“How quickly?”
“Five minutes.”
“Do it.”
Beatriz turned and walked away.
I followed.
“Where are you going?”
“To call my lawyer.”
“Excellent.”
She stopped.
“You think I'm joking?”
“No.”
“Then understand something.”
She stepped closer.
“If you try to take Isabella away from me, I'll fight you.”
I stared at her.
“She isn't your daughter.”
The words landed hard.
Beatriz's jaw tightened.
“No.”
She looked toward Isabella.
“But I've been the only mother she's had for four years.”
That was true.
Isabella's biological mother, Sofia, had died when Isabella was three.
Cancer.
I met Beatriz almost two years later.
She had been gentle with Isabella then.
Patient.
At least when I was watching.
That thought made me sick now.
My phone buzzed.
Javier.
Access restored.
I opened the security application.
There were fourteen cameras.
Kitchen.
Hallway.
Garden.
Garage.
Front entrance.
Living room.
I selected the kitchen.
The recordings went back ninety days.
I chose a random date.
Six weeks earlier.
6:14 a.m.
The kitchen appeared on my screen.
Isabella entered wearing pajamas.
She dragged a chair toward the sink.
Climbed onto it.
Started washing dishes.
My throat tightened.
Then Beatriz entered.
She was holding coffee.
No greeting.
No smile.
She pointed toward the floor.
Isabella climbed down.
She began scrubbing.
I watched ten minutes.
Then twenty.
Then thirty.
At 7:02, Isabella reached toward a piece of toast.
Beatriz slapped her hand away.
Even without audio, the cruelty was obvious.
I heard Isabella beside me.
“Daddy?”
I turned off the video.
“You don't need to watch this.”
She nodded.
I did.
I watched another day.
Then another.
Different chores.
Same fear.
One recording showed Beatriz dumping a basket of clean laundry onto the floor because Isabella had folded one shirt incorrectly.
Another showed Isabella standing alone in the hallway facing the wall for nearly three hours.
Another showed Beatriz eating dinner while Isabella scrubbed the kitchen floor.
My hands began shaking.
Then I found something worse.
A recording from twelve days earlier.
11:48 p.m.
Isabella entered the kitchen.
Barefoot.
She opened the refrigerator.
She took out a carton of milk.
Before she could drink it, Beatriz appeared.
She grabbed Isabella by the arm.
Hard.
Then she pointed toward the camera.
Walked directly underneath it.
Reached upward.
And turned it toward the wall.
The next forty minutes showed nothing.
Just darkness.
At 12:31 a.m., the camera turned back.
Isabella didn't return.
I stared at the screen.
“What happened that night?”
Silence.
“Isabella?”
She looked terrified.
“I was hungry.”
“I know.”
“I took milk.”
“What happened after she moved the camera?”
Her lips trembled.
Beatriz suddenly said, “Don't.”
I looked at her.
She wasn't speaking to me.
She was speaking to Isabella.
My daughter saw it too.
And something changed.
She stepped closer to me.
“She locked me outside.”
I stared at her.
“Outside where?”
“The pool house.”
“For how long?”
“All night.”
My stomach dropped.
The pool house wasn't heated.
Even in Marbella, nights could become cold near the sea.
“Why?”
“Because I stole food.”
“You didn't steal food.”
“That's what she called it.”
Beatriz crossed her arms.
“She had already eaten.”
I turned.
“She's a child.”
“She was testing boundaries.”
“You locked an eight-year-old outside overnight.”
“It wasn't cold.”
“You turned the camera away first.”
That silenced her.
Because now there was evidence.
Not enough.
But evidence.
I called Javier again.
“I need copies of every recording from the last ninety days.”
“All of them?”
“All.”
“Understood.”
“And Javier?”
“Yes?”
“Don't tell anyone you're doing this.”
His voice changed.
“Is something wrong?”
I looked at my daughter.
“Yes.”
I lowered my voice.
“Something is very wrong.”
I ended the call.
Then Isabella tugged gently on my sleeve.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“There are other cameras.”
I frowned.
“What other cameras?”
“The ones Beatriz doesn't know about.”
I stared at her.
“How do you know?”
“Mr. Mateo showed me.”
Mateo.
Our groundskeeper.
He had worked for my family for fourteen years.
“Where is Mateo?”
Isabella looked toward Beatriz.
“He's gone.”
My blood ran cold.
“Gone where?”
“I don't know.”
“When did he leave?”
“After he tried to help me.”
I turned toward Beatriz.
“What happened to Mateo?”
She shrugged.
“I fired him.”
“Why?”
“He stole from us.”
Isabella suddenly shouted.
“No, he didn't!”
We both looked at her.
Her little face was red with anger now.
The fear was still there.
But something else was appearing underneath it.
Courage.
“Mateo didn't steal anything.”
Beatriz stepped forward.
“You don't know what you're talking about.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Isabella.”
“He found the basement room.”
Silence.
I looked at my daughter.
“What basement room?”
Her eyes filled with tears again.
“The room where Beatriz put my things.”
May you like
I slowly turned toward my wife.
And this time, she didn't even try to smile.
