Chapter 7 - The Recording Behind the Wall
The elevator doors opened.
No one stepped out.
I stared into the empty elevator car while the display above it blinked P.
Mariana gripped my arm.
“Adrián…”
“I know.”
The doors remained open.
The corridor was silent.
Then the elevator light flickered.
My mother stepped backward.
Marta moved closer to Mariana.
Mauricio raised his gun again.
“Everybody stay where you are.”
I looked at him.
“You're pointing that at a pregnant woman.”
“I'm trying to keep everyone alive.”
“You've had eight years to do that.”
His jaw tightened.
Then something inside the elevator moved.
A small shadow passed across the floor.
Mariana gasped.
I stepped forward.
“Who is there?”
A child's voice answered.
“Mom?”
Mariana froze.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
I looked at her.
She was staring into the elevator.
Her entire body had gone rigid.
The voice came again.
“Mom?”
It was soft.
Uncertain.
Terrified.
Mariana took one step forward.
I caught her hand.
“Wait.”
She looked at me.
Tears streamed down her face.
“That voice…”
The elevator doors suddenly closed.
I ran toward them.
They shut before I reached them.
I pressed the button.
Nothing.
The display changed.
2.
Then 1.
Then L.
Basement.
I looked at the others.
“Why is the elevator going down?”
No one answered.
Mauricio lowered the gun.
“Because someone called it.”
“Who?”
He stared at the display.
“I don't know.”
I pulled out my phone.
The message with the photograph of the girl was still open.
I typed:
Is she here?
The response arrived instantly.
Not yet.
My heart sank.
I typed again.
Then who was in the elevator?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Then:
Someone who wants you to think she is.
I stared at the message.
Mariana saw it.
“Someone is playing with us.”
“No,” Marta said quietly.
We turned toward her.
She looked frightened.
“They want us to leave.”
“Why?”
“Because the building isn't safe anymore.”
I looked at Mauricio.
“You knew that.”
“No.”
“You knew the security system was compromised.”
He didn't answer.
My mother suddenly spoke.
“There's a second way out.”
I turned toward her.
“Where?”
“Behind the service corridor.”
Marta shook her head.
“No.”
My mother looked at her.
“They'll find us there.”
“Who?”
My mother didn't answer.
I stepped toward her.
“You're going to tell me everything now.”
She looked at me.
“If I tell you, you'll hate me.”
“I already don't know who you are.”
She lowered her eyes.
“I was trying to keep you alive.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it's true.”
“You traded our daughter.”
Her face collapsed.
“I thought I had no choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
She didn't answer.
I looked at Mauricio.
“And you?”
He swallowed.
“I was twenty-nine.”
“That isn't an excuse.”
“I know.”
“You helped her.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your father had already been threatened.”
“By whom?”
He looked at my mother.
She whispered:
“The Ortega group.”
The name meant nothing to me.
Marta reacted immediately.
“You said that name was buried.”
My mother looked at her.
“It was.”
Marta shook her head.
“They came back.”
I felt my chest tighten.
“Who are they?”
Marta looked toward the cameras.
“Not here.”
“Where?”
“The old warehouse.”
“What warehouse?”
She hesitated.
“Your father's.”
I remembered it.
A storage facility on the outskirts of Guadalajara.
I hadn't been there since I was a teenager.
My father had kept business records there.
After his death, my mother had told me everything had been cleared out.
Maybe it hadn't.
My phone vibrated.
Another message.
This time there was no photograph.
Only an address.
The old warehouse.
And one sentence:
YOUR FATHER LEFT THE TRUTH THERE.
I looked at Marta.
“You sent this?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
I looked at my mother.
She didn't move.
Mauricio looked at the message.
His face changed.
“You can't go there.”
“Why?”
“Because that's where they kept the original records.”
“What records?”
“The ones that could destroy everyone.”
I stared at him.
“Then that's where we're going.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because someone is waiting for you there.”
“Who?”
He looked at Mariana.
“The person who ordered the first transfer.”
Mariana's face went pale.
“Who?”
Mauricio said nothing.
My mother closed her eyes.
Then she whispered:
“Your father's partner.”
I felt a coldness spread through me.
“My father had a partner?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
Before she could answer, the lights went out.
Again.
But this time, something else happened.
A door slammed somewhere behind us.
Then another.
Then another.
The building was locking itself down.
Marta grabbed Mariana's hand.
“Move.”
We ran.
The corridor lights came back one by one.
Emergency lighting.
Red.
Dim.
Unnatural.
I looked behind me.
Mauricio was following.
My mother was behind him.
The elevator suddenly opened.
Empty.
But the floor was wet.
A trail of water led from inside the elevator toward the corridor.
I stopped.
Mariana looked down.
“What is that?”
Marta crouched.
She touched it.
Then smelled her fingers.
“Disinfectant.”
I stared at the elevator.
“Why would there be disinfectant?”
Marta looked at me.
“Because someone cleaned something.”
My stomach turned.
“Something?”
She stood.
“Or someone.”
We moved faster.
At the end of the corridor was the service exit my mother had mentioned.
She opened it.
A narrow staircase descended into darkness.
I turned on my phone flashlight.
“Where does this go?”
“Parking level two.”
“Then we can reach the street.”
My mother shook her head.
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
She looked at the stairs.
“There is an old maintenance tunnel.”
“Where?”
“Under the building.”
I stared at her.
“You knew about this?”
“Yes.”
“Of course you did.”
We descended.
Mariana moved slowly.
I supported her weight.
Halfway down, she suddenly stopped.
“What?”
She pointed at the wall.
There was a small child's drawing taped to it.
A house.
A woman.
A man.
And a little girl between them.
I picked it up.
On the bottom was a name.
Mia.
Mariana touched it.
“Mia.”
She started crying.
“That was the name I wanted.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“For our baby.”
She had never told me.
Not once.
“You wanted to name her Mia?”
She nodded.
“I wrote it in my journal.”
I stared at the drawing.
Someone had known.
Someone had taken the name from her journal.
Or someone had been watching her long before tonight.
I turned the paper over.
A message was written on the back.
SHE KNOWS YOU.
Then another line.
SHE REMEMBERS THE SONG.
Mariana suddenly went still.
“What song?”
She stared at the drawing.
“I used to sing one.”
“To the baby?”
“Yes.”
“What song?”
“I don't remember.”
She closed her eyes.
Then quietly began humming.
Four notes.
The same four notes my father used to hum whenever he held me as a child.
I stared at her.
“Where did you learn that?”
Mariana opened her eyes.
“My mother sang it to me.”
“My mother?”
“No.”
She looked confused.
“My mother used to say her mother taught her.”
I felt a chill.
My father had taught me the same melody.
The same four notes.
It was a family song.
One nobody else knew.
I looked at the drawing again.
Mia.
The little girl.
The song.
My daughter.
Maybe.
We continued downward.
At the bottom was a steel door.
My mother stopped.
“We can't go through there.”
“Why?”
“Because your father sealed it.”
I reached for the handle.
“Then he sealed something worth hiding.”
“Adrián.”
I opened the door.
Beyond it was a narrow tunnel.
Dust covered the floor.
Old pipes ran along the ceiling.
At the far end was another door.
This one had a keypad.
Marta walked toward it.
“How do you know the code?”
“I don't.”
My mother did.
She entered six numbers.
The door unlocked.
I stared at her.
“You've been here before.”
She didn't answer.
We entered.
The room beyond was small.
Concrete walls.
One desk.
Two filing cabinets.
An old computer.
And a tape recorder.
I walked toward it.
There was a label.
ADRIÁN — WHEN YOU KNOW ABOUT MIA.
My hands stopped.
Mariana stepped beside me.
“Play it.”
I pressed the button.
Static filled the room.
Then my father's voice.
“If you're hearing this, your mother failed to keep the truth buried.”
My mother closed her eyes.
My father's voice continued.
“Mia was born alive.”
Mariana began crying.
“She was taken because someone believed your family could be controlled through her.”
I looked at my mother.
She didn't move.
“The person responsible wasn't your mother.”
I froze.
My mother looked up.
“What?”
The recording continued.
“Ofelia made a terrible agreement, but she wasn't the person who ordered it.”
I stared at the recorder.
“Then who?”
My father's voice answered.
“The order came from someone inside our family.”
Mauricio stepped backward.
I turned toward him.
He shook his head.
“No.”
The recording continued.
“The person who signed the final transfer was…”
Static swallowed the next words.
I hit the rewind button.
Nothing.
The tape crackled.
Then my father's voice returned.
“…the person you trusted most.”
I stared at the machine.
“Who?”
The recorder clicked.
The tape ended.
Silence.
Then the old computer beside it suddenly turned on.
The screen was black.
A password box appeared.
Below it was a single sentence.
ENTER MIA'S DATE OF BIRTH.
Mariana stepped closer.
“What date?”
I looked at the birth record.
The date printed there.
I entered it.
Incorrect.
I tried again.
Incorrect.
My mother suddenly whispered:
“That's not her birthday.”
I turned.
“How would you know?”
She didn't answer.
Mariana stared at her.
“Ofelia.”
My mother began crying.
“The date on the birth record was falsified.”
“Then what's her real birthday?”
My mother looked at the computer.
“You already know it.”
I shook my head.
“No, I don't.”
“Yes.”
She pointed toward Mariana.
“Ask her.”
Mariana looked confused.
I turned to my wife.
“Do you remember the day you heard the baby crying?”
She closed her eyes.
“December 14.”
I entered December 14.
The computer unlocked.
A folder appeared.
MIA LOZANO — ORIGINAL FILE
I clicked it.
Photographs loaded.
Hospital records.
DNA reports.
Transfer documents.
Then one final video file.
Recorded eight years ago.
I pressed play.
A young woman appeared on the screen.
She was holding a newborn baby.
The camera was shaky.
The woman turned toward the lens.
I stopped breathing.
Mariana screamed.
Because the woman holding our daughter wasn't a stranger.
May you like
It was my mother.
And behind her, standing in the hospital doorway, was the one person none of us had suspected...
