Chapter 3 - BLOOD ISN'T ALWAYS FAMILY
My brother's name was Alejandro Vega.
We hadn't spoken in six years.
Not properly.
Our father built Vega International from a small construction company into a real estate empire.
When he died, he left controlling interest to me.
Alejandro received money.
Properties.
Shares.
More wealth than most people could spend in three lifetimes.
But he didn't receive control.
He never forgave me.
“You're sure?” I asked Mateo.
“The Panamanian company traces back to Alejandro's attorneys.”
“Does he still control it?”
“Possibly through nominees.”
I looked toward Isabella.
She was asleep in the hotel bedroom.
I had refused to send her back to the villa.
Beatriz believed Rosa had taken her to a friend's house for the night.
That lie wouldn't survive long.
“Keep digging.”
“Daniel, this could be bigger than Beatriz.”
“I know.”
My phone rang.
Beatriz.
I answered.
“Hey.”
“Daniel.”
Her voice sounded cheerful.
“I have a surprise.”
“So do I.”
My mistake.
Silence.
“What does that mean?”
I recovered.
“The Dubai project finished early.”
“Oh.”
Just one word.
But I heard fear.
“When are you coming home?”
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
“Maybe next week.”
She laughed.
Too quickly.
“You scared me.”
“Why?”
“No reason.”
I smiled without humor.
“How is Isabella?”
“Wonderful.”
I looked through the bedroom door at my daughter's bandaged hands.
“Really?”
“She's been an angel.”
“Put her on.”
Silence.
“She already went to sleep.”
“Wake her.”
“Daniel.”
“I'm her father.”
“She had a long day.”
Doing what?
Dragging garbage?
Burning her hands?
Being told her father hated her?
Instead I said, “Fine.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
The lie tasted poisonous.
After we disconnected, Mateo called again.
“I found Alejandro.”
“Where?”
“Marbella.”
I stood.
“He's here?”
“Has been for two months.”
That couldn't be coincidence.
“Where?”
“Private villa near Benahavís.”
“Watch him.”
“Already happening.”
The next morning, Isabella finally told me more.
Not everything.
Children reveal trauma strangely.
Not chronologically.
Not cleanly.
A memory here.
A sentence there.
She told me Beatriz had locked her in the laundry room twice.
She told me she sometimes ate dinner alone after everyone went to bed.
She told me Beatriz had removed photographs of Elena from her room.
“Why?”
“She said Mommy made me weak.”
I had to look away.
Elena had loved our daughter more fiercely than anyone I'd ever known.
Before she died, she made me promise one thing.
Don't let Isabella grow up believing love has to hurt.
I had failed that promise.
At least temporarily.
That afternoon, Mateo entered the hotel room carrying a laptop.
“We have another problem.”
He opened a video.
Security footage.
My office.
Beatriz entered.
Alejandro followed.
The timestamp showed six weeks earlier.
I stared.
They kissed.
Not affectionately.
Hungrily.
My stomach twisted.
I didn't love Beatriz anymore.
Whatever love had existed died in the backyard.
But betrayal still had weight.
Then Alejandro placed documents on my desk.
They spoke.
The security camera had no audio.
But Mateo had enhanced the image enough to read part of a document.
GUARDIANSHIP.
I leaned closer.
“Guardian of whom?”
Mateo looked toward the bedroom.
“Isabella.”
Everything became clear.
If something happened to me, Isabella inherited enormous assets.
But an eight-year-old couldn't manage them.
A guardian would.
“They're planning for my death.”
Mateo didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
That evening, we moved Isabella to a secure property owned through a company Beatriz didn't know about.
Rosa came with us.
I hired a pediatric specialist and counselor.
Then I returned to my villa.
Through the front door.
Beatriz almost dropped her wine.
“Daniel?”
I smiled.
“Surprise.”
She ran toward me.
I let her hug me.
Every muscle in my body resisted.
“You said next week.”
“I changed my mind.”
She kissed my cheek.
“Where's Isabella?”
I watched her face.
“I thought she was here.”
The color drained from her skin.
“What?”
“You said she was asleep last night.”
“She was.”
“Then where is she?”
Beatriz recovered quickly.
“Rosa took her shopping.”
“Call Rosa.”
“I will.”
She reached for her phone.
I watched.
Her hand trembled.
Barely.
But it trembled.
“What happened to Isabella's hands?”
Beatriz froze.
“What?”
“She mentioned hurting them.”
A beat.
“Craft project.”
I smiled.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
She stared at me.
Then smiled.
“Daniel, you just got home.”
She touched my chest.
“Can't we enjoy five minutes together?”
I looked into the eyes of the woman who had terrorized my daughter.
“Absolutely.”
That night, I pretended to sleep beside her.
At 2:14 a.m., Beatriz slipped out of bed.
I waited thirty seconds.
Then followed.
She entered my office.
I stood outside.
Her voice came through the door.
“He's home.”
Pause.
“No, he wasn't supposed to be.”
Another pause.
“I don't know.”
I moved closer.
Then she said something that confirmed my worst fear.
“If Daniel knows, we move the accident forward.”
My hand tightened around the door handle.
But I didn't enter.
Not yet.
Then a man's voice answered through her speakerphone.
Alejandro.
“When?”
May you like
Beatriz whispered.
“Tomorrow.”
