Chapter 10 - Mauricio’s Last Move
The phone rang again.
Nobody moved.
I stared at the screen.
The caller ID showed one name.
Adrián Lozano.
My own name.
My blood ran cold.
Mariana whispered:
“That’s impossible.”
I knew it was.
My phone was in my hand.
The number calling me was identical to mine.
I looked at my mother.
She was shaking.
“Don't answer it.”
“Why?”
“Because they want you to.”
The phone rang again.
I pressed the answer button.
“Who is this?”
Static.
Then my own voice came through.
“Adrián.”
I froze.
It was my voice.
Perfectly.
The same tone.
The same breathing.
The same slight hesitation before my name.
“Who are you?”
The voice answered:
“You already know.”
The call ended.
I stared at the screen.
Mariana stepped closer.
“What did it say?”
I couldn't answer.
Marta looked toward the hallway.
“We need to leave.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
She stared at me.
“Adrián.”
“This is what they've been doing.”
“What?”
“Making recordings of me.”
I held up the phone.
“They made a fake recording before. Now they're using my voice again.”
My mother looked at the records cabinet.
“Then they want us frightened.”
“No.”
I turned toward her.
“They want us to believe someone is alive.”
She looked away.
I understood.
“R-17.”
My mother's face changed.
“You know the name.”
She said nothing.
“Tell me.”
“Not here.”
“Then where?”
She pointed toward the records.
“Behind those files.”
I moved the folders aside.
There was a metal panel.
A keypad.
Six numbers.
I looked at her.
“What is the code?”
She shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“You've been here before.”
“Eight years ago.”
“You opened this.”
“No.”
“Then how did you know it was here?”
She looked toward Marta.
Marta answered.
“Because your father told her.”
I stared at my mother.
“What did he tell you?”
“He said if R-17 ever contacted you, you had to destroy the records.”
“Why?”
“Because they would use them to control you.”
I stepped closer.
“Who is R-17?”
My mother whispered:
“Your father.”
Silence.
I stared at her.
“My father?”
“He created the code.”
“That doesn't mean he was R-17.”
“He was.”
Mariana shook her head.
“No.”
My mother looked at her.
“R-17 wasn't a person.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“It was a project.”
“What project?”
“A private investigation your father started.”
Marta nodded.
“He was collecting evidence.”
“Against whom?”
“The Ortega group.”
I looked at the seven folders.
“Then why did they use the same code for the babies?”
My mother didn't answer.
I opened the nearest folder.
The child's records had one number stamped in red.
R-17-01.
The next:
R-17-02.
Then:
R-17-03.
Seven children.
Seven numbers.
I felt sick.
“They weren't just children.”
“No,” Marta said.
“They were evidence.”
“Yes.”
I looked at her.
“Evidence of what?”
She swallowed.
“Who controlled the clinics.”
“Why would babies prove that?”
“They didn't.”
“Then what did?”
“Their parents.”
I looked at Mariana.
She was confused.
Marta continued.
“The seven babies were born to families connected to the same financial network.”
“What network?”
“Shipping companies.”
My heart stopped.
My company.
My father's company.
The logistics routes.
The private warehouses.
It all connected.
“These families were used to move money?”
“Yes.”
“And the babies?”
“Were leverage.”
My mother whispered:
“They were taken when their parents refused to cooperate.”
I stared at her.
“How many?”
“Seven.”
“Did all seven survive?”
Marta lowered her eyes.
“I don't know.”
“You don't know?”
“I only know what happened to Mia.”
“What happened to the others?”
She shook her head.
My phone vibrated.
A message.
ASK MAURICIO.
I looked toward the door.
“Where is he?”
No one answered.
My mother suddenly looked frightened.
“He was supposed to be behind us.”
I turned.
The corridor was empty.
“Mauricio!”
No response.
I ran outside.
Nothing.
Then I heard a car engine.
I reached the parking lot just in time to see Mauricio's SUV disappear around the corner.
I pulled out my phone.
His location was still active.
Moving.
Fast.
Toward Guadalajara.
I called him.
He answered on the second ring.
“Adrián.”
“Where are you?”
Silence.
“Where are you?”
“You shouldn't have opened the R-17 file.”
I tightened my grip.
“You know what it is.”
“Yes.”
“You knew about Mia.”
“Yes.”
“You knew she survived.”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
Another silence.
Then:
“Safe.”
“Where?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Who has her?”
“I don't.”
“Then who?”
He breathed heavily.
“Adrián, listen to me. Your mother isn't the person you should be afraid of.”
I glanced toward her.
“Then who?”
“Me.”
The call ended.
I stared at the phone.
Mariana came beside me.
“What happened?”
“He said he's the person we should be afraid of.”
Marta stepped closer.
“He's going to the warehouse.”
“How do you know?”
“Because that's where the original archive is.”
I looked at my mother.
She nodded.
“He has a key.”
We got into the car.
I drove.
The road was almost empty.
My mother sat beside me.
Mariana sat in the back with Marta.
No one spoke for several minutes.
Then my mother said:
“I need to tell you something.”
I kept my eyes on the road.
“What?”
“Your father didn't die naturally.”
My hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“What?”
“He was poisoned.”
Mariana inhaled sharply.
“When?”
“The night before his final meeting.”
“Who did it?”
“We never proved it.”
“But you know.”
She looked out the window.
“I suspect Mauricio.”
I stared at her through the mirror.
“You think Mauricio killed my father?”
“I think he was there.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I was afraid.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because every time I tried to speak, someone disappeared.”
“Who?”
“A driver.”
“A secretary.”
“A nurse.”
“A lawyer.”
“And your father.”
My stomach twisted.
“What about Daniel Rivas?”
My mother looked at me.
“He was the last person your father trusted.”
“Where is he?”
“I don't know.”
I checked my phone.
No messages.
Then a notification appeared.
A location pin.
Not from my phone.
It showed Daniel's location.
The old warehouse.
I looked at Marta.
“Daniel is there.”
She stared at the screen.
“He's alive.”
My mother whispered:
“No.”
“What?”
She shook her head.
“That location was deactivated eight years ago.”
“Then why is it active now?”
Nobody answered.
We reached the warehouse.
The gates were open.
I parked outside.
The building was dark.
Too dark.
I took the flashlight.
“Stay in the car.”
Mariana shook her head.
“I'm coming.”
“You're pregnant.”
“And this is about our daughter.”
I couldn't argue.
We entered together.
Dust covered the floor.
Old shelves stood against the walls.
A single light flickered above the loading area.
Then we heard a noise.
Metal scraping against concrete.
I turned.
A door was moving.
Behind it was a stairwell.
I remembered my father taking me there once.
He had told me never to enter without him.
I opened the door.
We descended.
At the bottom was a room.
The walls were covered with photographs.
Seven children.
Seven families.
Seven dates.
I walked closer.
Mia's photograph was in the center.
Beside it was a photograph of my father.
Underneath his picture:
R-17 — CREATOR.
Then I saw another photograph.
Mauricio.
Underneath:
R-17 — SUCCESSOR.
My stomach dropped.
He hadn't merely worked for my father.
He had inherited the entire operation.
I turned to my mother.
“What does successor mean?”
She didn't answer.
Marta stepped closer.
“It means Mauricio took control after your father died.”
I stared at the wall.
“And the children?”
“His leverage.”
I felt sick.
“No.”
Marta nodded.
“He kept the files.”
“Why?”
“To control the families.”
My mother began crying.
“I tried to stop him.”
“But you signed the agreement.”
“I was trying to get Mia back.”
“You failed.”
“I know.”
A sound came from the room behind us.
A door slammed.
I turned.
“Mauricio?”
No answer.
Then the warehouse lights came on.
All of them.
At the far end stood Mauricio.
He was holding a folder.
No gun.
Just the folder.
He looked at me.
“You finally found it.”
I stepped forward.
“Where is my daughter?”
He looked at Mariana.
Then at her stomach.
“Still asking the wrong question.”
“What question should I ask?”
He smiled faintly.
“Ask why your wife was never supposed to have another baby.”
Mariana froze.
I stared at him.
“What does that mean?”
Mauricio opened the folder.
Inside was a medical report.
Recent.
Dated five days ago.
Mariana's name.
Her pregnancy.
Her blood tests.
And one sentence highlighted in red:
THE SECOND PREGNANCY CONFIRMS THE GENETIC MATCH.
I looked at Mariana.
She was crying.
“What genetic match?”
Mauricio stepped closer.
“Your first daughter wasn't the only reason they kept watching you.”
My voice dropped.
“What else?”
He placed another document on the table.
A DNA report.
Three names appeared.
Mariana Lozano.
Mia Lozano.
And a third name.
I stared at it.
The name belonged to a woman.
A woman I had never heard of.
But the blood relationship listed beside her name made my heart stop.
BIOLOGICAL GRANDMOTHER.
I looked at my mother.
She was staring at the paper.
Then I saw the name beneath the result.
It wasn't hers.
It wasn't Mariana's.
It wasn't anyone I recognized.
Mauricio closed the folder.
“You've spent all night looking for the wrong family secret.”
He turned toward the exit.
I grabbed his shoulder.
“Where is Mia?”
He looked back at me.
“Ask your mother why she lied about who your father really was.”
My mother screamed:
“Adrián, don't listen to him!”
Mauricio walked away.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
A child's voice whispered:
“Dad?”
I couldn't move.
“Mia?”
She breathed softly.
Then she said:
“Please don't let Grandma find me.”
The call went dead.
I looked at my mother.
She was already reaching for the door.
May you like
And for the first time that night, she wasn't trying to stop me from leaving.
She was trying to get to Mia first...
