Chapter 2 - DINNER WITH A LIAR
Andrés stood.
Teresa pulled his sleeve.
“No.”
The handle moved again.
“Andrés?” Renata called.
Her voice was sweet.
Too sweet.
He looked at his mother.
Teresa shook her head.
Not yet.
Andrés understood.
He opened the door only wide enough to step through and pulled it shut behind him.
Renata stood in the hallway wearing a silk robe.
“What are you doing?”
“Seeing my mother.”
“You shouldn’t wake her.”
“She wasn’t asleep.”
Renata studied his face.
He made sure she saw nothing.
Years earlier, before joining the army, Andrés had worked as an investigator with the state prosecutor’s office. Fraud cases. Forged deeds. False signatures. Families stealing from families.
He had learned an ugly truth.
People rarely feared what you knew.
They feared what they thought you might know.
So Andrés yawned.
“She looks terrible.”
Renata’s expression softened.
“I know.”
“What did the doctor say?”
“That she needs evaluation.”
“Which doctor?”
“Dr. Molina.”
Andrés knew Molina.
Family physician.
Good man.
Old-fashioned.
Not a psychiatrist.
“When did he see her?”
“Last week.”
“At the house?”
“Yes.”
“And he said to lock her in?”
Renata blinked.
“No. Of course not.”
“Then why is there a deadbolt?”
“For emergencies.”
Andrés nodded slowly.
“I need a shower.”
Renata reached for him.
He kissed her cheek before she could touch him.
“Give me ten minutes.”
At dinner, Renata served red wine.
She talked.
Andrés listened.
Teresa had supposedly become forgetful.
Then suspicious.
Then aggressive.
Then dangerous.
“She accused me of stealing from her,” Renata said.
“Did you?”
Renata stared at him.
He smiled.
“Bad joke.”
She laughed after half a second.
“She thinks everyone wants her money.”
“My mother has always thought everyone wants her money.”
“This is different.”
“How?”
“She says I’m trying to take the house.”
Andrés lifted his glass.
“Are you?”
“Andrés.”
Another joke.
Another delayed laugh.
He watched her fingers.
No trembling.
No nervous fidgeting.
She had prepared for this conversation.
Then she brought out the folder.
That was when everything changed.
“I was waiting until you got home,” she said.
Inside were legal forms.
Medical authorization.
Temporary financial control.
A power of attorney.
An application related to Teresa’s property.
Andrés turned pages slowly.
Renata sat close.
“Your mother can’t make rational decisions anymore.”
“These are a lot of documents.”
“I’ve had weeks to deal with this.”
“Clearly.”
“I can’t do it alone.”
He read a clause.
“If I sign this, I’m agreeing she lacks capacity.”
“It protects her.”
“And the house?”
“What about it?”
“This lets us manage it.”
“It lets you manage it.”
“With your authorization.”
Andrés looked up.
Renata was watching him carefully.
He leaned back.
“How much is the house worth now?”
Her answer came too fast.
“Maybe seven million.”
He smiled.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“You knew immediately.”
“We had it appraised last year.”
“Right.”
She poured more wine.
“Sign tomorrow. Sleep first.”
Andrés closed the folder.
“Good idea.”
Relief flashed across her face.
Again.
Too much relief.
That night Renata fell asleep against his shoulder.
Andrés waited.
One hour.
Two.
At 1:47 a.m., her breathing deepened.
He slipped from bed.
The home security hub was in the small downstairs office.
Renata had changed the administrator password.
That wasn’t surprising.
What surprised him was the deletion history.
Three months of footage erased.
Every hallway camera.
Every front-door clip.
Every kitchen recording.
Gone.
But Andrés knew the system.
Local footage could be deleted.
Cloud access logs could not.
He opened the remote history.
Laptop connection.
User: RENATA-R.
Deletion.
Deletion.
Deletion.
Deletion.
His stomach tightened.
He downloaded the access report.
Then he opened his mother’s email.
Password changed.
Recovery address changed.
But Teresa had once asked him to save her credentials.
He recovered the account.
Bank notifications flooded the inbox.
Mailing address modified.
Online access requested.
New beneficiary registration pending.
Then he saw the number.
950,000 pesos.
Transfer request.
Pending authorization.
Andrés stared at the screen.
His mother kept barely half that amount in checking.
Unless—
He opened another statement.
A fixed-term investment had been liquidated.
Nine hundred and fifty thousand pesos.
The transfer beneficiary belonged to a private company.
R&M CONSULTING SERVICES.
He copied the corporate name.
Then he found something else.
A scanned signature authorization.
Teresa’s signature.
Except Andrés knew his mother’s signature.
She made the T in Teresa like a hook.
This one was too straight.
Forged.
His hands went cold.
A sound came from the staircase.
Andrés shut the laptop.
Footsteps.
He reached beneath his shirt out of instinct.
No weapon.
He was home.
The office door opened.
Renata stood there.
Her face was unreadable.
“What are you doing?”
Andrés smiled.
“Looking for the Wi-Fi password.”
“At two in the morning?”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
She stared at the dark monitor.
Then at him.
“Come back to bed.”
“In a minute.”
Renata didn’t move.
Neither did Andrés.
Finally she whispered, “You know, your mother wasn’t the only person who changed while you were gone.”
Andrés felt the threat hidden inside the sentence.
He smiled anyway.
“What changed about you?”
Renata stepped closer.
Then she placed her lips beside his ear.
“You’ll find out.”
She walked away.
Andrés waited until her footsteps disappeared.
Then he reopened the computer.
One new notification had appeared.
BANK SECURITY ALERT.
May you like
Someone had just attempted to access Teresa’s account.
From inside the house.
