Chapter 6 - The Forged Signature
The door opened.
A hospital administrator stood outside.
Behind him were two security officers.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Mr. Santiago?”
“Yes.”
“We need to speak with you privately.”
“About what?”
The administrator held a folder.
“There's been a complaint regarding your family.”
I looked toward Mariana.
She was terrified.
“What complaint?”
“Your mother claims your wife is mentally unstable and that you have threatened her.”
I almost laughed.
Almost.
Instead, I said, “She's trying to take my child.”
The administrator's expression changed.
“Then you need legal counsel.”
He handed me the folder.
Inside was the custody document.
My name.
My signature.
My authorization for my mother to assume temporary guardianship of Emiliano.
Except I had never signed it.
I looked closer.
The signature looked almost perfect.
Almost.
But my father had taught me something when I was a teenager.
Never sign a document without noticing the pressure of the pen.
I touched the ink.
“This is forged.”
The administrator nodded.
“We'll have it examined.”
I looked at Mariana.
She was crying silently.
I took her hand.
“No one is taking our son.”
That was the first time I saw relief in her eyes.
But the relief lasted seconds.
My phone rang.
Paola.
I answered.
“Where are you?”
“Home.”
“Mom knows.”
“Knows what?”
“That we found the folder.”
My stomach tightened.
“What is she doing?”
“She left.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
Paola sounded breathless.
Then she whispered:
“She took the original birth records.”
I stood.
“Why?”
“I think she knows what Dad left behind.”
I looked at the administrator.
“Can you keep my wife and son protected?”
“We can document everything.”
I nodded.
Then I turned back to Mariana.
“I need to find my mother.”
“No.”
She grabbed my hand.
“Don't go alone.”
“I won't.”
Paola met me downstairs.
We drove to my mother's house.
The place looked normal.
Too normal.
The front door was unlocked.
Inside, drawers had been emptied.
Papers covered the floor.
My mother's bedroom was almost completely cleared.
“She left in a hurry,” Paola said.
I noticed a small piece of blue fabric beneath the bed.
I pulled it out.
A second folder.
But this one was empty.
Only one photograph remained inside.
It showed my father holding a newborn baby.
On the back was a date.
And a name.
Emiliano Vargas.
Paola stared at it.
“That baby…”
I couldn't finish.
My father had been holding the child.
The child had my eyes.
Then I noticed something else.
A woman stood behind my father.
Isabel.
And beside her was my mother.
But Mother wasn't looking at the baby.
She was looking directly at the camera.
As if she knew someone would someday find the photograph.
My phone vibrated.
A message appeared.
You have until midnight to stop asking questions.
Another message followed.
After that, your wife loses the baby.
I stared at the screen.
Paola whispered, “Who sent it?”
I looked at the photograph.
Then at the empty blue folder.
“I think I know.”
“What?”
I zoomed in on the photograph.
There was a reflection in the glass behind my father.
A man standing in the doorway.
A man I recognized.
May you like
My uncle Rafael.
Except Rafael had died twelve years earlier.
