CHAPTER 3 – WHAT MATEO FOUND
The basement had always been used for wine storage.
At least, that was what I believed.
Isabella led me past the main cellar toward a narrow service corridor.
There was a steel door at the end.
Locked.
I had never seen it locked before.
“Open it.”
Beatriz didn't move.
“I don't have the key.”
“Try again.”
“I said I don't have it.”
I called the maintenance supervisor.
“Bring bolt cutters to the basement.”
Beatriz stared at me.
“You're destroying our marriage over the word of a confused child.”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“You destroyed it.”
Ten minutes later, the lock snapped.
I opened the door.
The smell hit first.
Dust.
Cardboard.
Damp concrete.
Then I switched on the light.
Boxes filled the room.
Dozens.
I recognized Isabella's belongings immediately.
Her dresses.
Her books.
Her stuffed animals.
Her mother's photographs.
Everything from her old bedroom.
But that wasn't all.
Against the far wall sat a desk.
On it were stacks of papers.
Receipts.
Bank statements.
Shipping labels.
I picked up one invoice.
A designer dress belonging to Isabella.
Sold online.
Another.
A gold bracelet Sofia had given Isabella before she died.
Sold.
My chest tightened.
“That bracelet wasn't yours.”
Beatriz remained silent.
I opened another folder.
Jewelry.
Handbags.
Paintings.
Several belonged to me.
Some had been removed from storage rooms I rarely entered.
This wasn't discipline.
This wasn't cruelty alone.
It was theft.
Systematic theft.
Then I found a bank statement.
An account in Gibraltar.
The balance was over €600,000.
I stared at Beatriz.
“What is this?”
She said nothing.
“Answer me.”
“My money.”
“From selling my daughter's possessions?”
“Some of it.”
“Some?”
I flipped through more papers.
Transfers.
Large transfers.
€40,000.
€75,000.
€120,000.
All sent to the same company.
Cruz Holdings.
I knew that name.
Not well.
But enough.
“Who is Alejandro Cruz?”
Beatriz's face changed.
Tiny reaction.
But unmistakable.
Fear.
“Business acquaintance.”
I laughed once.
“You don't have a business.”
She looked away.
I pulled out my phone.
Before I could call anyone, Isabella spoke.
“Daddy.”
I turned.
She was standing near the desk.
Holding something.
A phone.
Old.
Cracked screen.
“Whose is that?”
“Mr. Mateo's.”
I took it.
The battery was dead.
“Why is it here?”
“He hid it.”
“Why?”
“He said if something happened to him, I should give it to you.”
Every hair on my arms rose.
“When did he say that?”
“The day before Beatriz fired him.”
I looked toward my wife.
She was backing toward the door.
“Don't.”
She stopped.
“Daniel, you need to think carefully.”
“I am.”
“No, you're angry.”
“Correct.”
“You don't understand what you're looking at.”
“Then explain.”
She said nothing.
I slipped Mateo's phone into my pocket.
“We're leaving.”
Isabella looked up.
“Where?”
“Somewhere safe.”
Beatriz laughed.
“You can't just take her.”
I stared at her.
“Watch me.”
I packed nothing.
I didn't trust anything inside that house anymore.
We left through the front entrance.
My driver wasn't there because nobody knew I had returned.
So I put Isabella in my rental car.
Before closing her door, I crouched.
“Sweetheart, we're going somewhere Beatriz can't reach you.”
She stared at me.
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
“Really promise?”
My throat tightened.
“Really.”
We drove to a hotel owned by one of my companies in Puerto Banús.
I called the general manager personally.
“No record of our stay.”
“Of course, Mr. Navarro.”
“No visitors without my authorization.”
“Understood.”
Then I called my attorney.
Elena Vargas arrived forty minutes later.
She was fifty-two, terrifying in court, and one of the few people I trusted completely.
She examined Isabella's hands.
Her expression darkened.
“Doctor first.”
A private pediatrician documented every injury.
Old bruises.
Fresh abrasions.
Malnutrition.
Not severe.
But enough to make the doctor furious.
“She has lost nearly four kilograms since her last medical examination.”
I looked at Isabella.
Four kilograms.
From an eight-year-old.
The doctor continued.
“There are indications of repeated physical labor.”
Elena wrote everything down.
Then we connected Mateo's phone to a charger.
The screen flickered.
Password.
I looked at Isabella.
“Do you know it?”
She nodded.
“Her birthday.”
“Whose?”
“His wife's.”
Mateo's wife had died years earlier.
I remembered the date.
October 14.
The phone unlocked.
There were hundreds of photographs.
Videos.
Voice recordings.
And one folder.
DANIEL.
I opened it.
The first video showed Beatriz shouting at Isabella.
The second showed her forcing Isabella to clean the terrace at midnight.
The third showed her throwing Isabella's dinner into the garbage.
Then I found a video of Mateo himself.
He was sitting inside his truck.
His face looked nervous.
“Mr. Navarro, if you're seeing this, something has happened.”
I leaned closer.
“I've worked for your family fourteen years.”
He swallowed.
“I loved your father.”
“I love that little girl.”
“And I can't stay quiet anymore.”
The camera shook slightly.
“Mrs. Navarro has been hurting Isabella.”
“I have proof.”
“But that's not the only reason I'm recording this.”
My stomach tightened.
Mateo looked behind him.
Then back toward the camera.
“She is stealing from you.”
I glanced at Elena.
Mateo continued.
“And I believe she's planning something much bigger.”
He lifted several papers.
“I found transfers to Alejandro Cruz.”
“I followed him yesterday.”
“He met Mrs. Navarro at a restaurant outside Málaga.”
“They weren't meeting like business partners.”
My jaw tightened.
Mateo hesitated.
Then said the sentence that changed everything.
“I heard them talking about you.”
He leaned closer to the camera.
“They said Dubai was supposed to keep you away longer.”
My blood went cold.
“And when you finally came home…”
May you like
Mateo swallowed.
“They said you wouldn't be staying for long.”
