Chapter 3 - The Letter That Was Too Perfect
The door opened another inch.
Ofelia grabbed my wrist.
I could feel her fingers trembling.
The man's shadow stretched across the floor toward us.
“Where is the blue ledger?” he asked again.
I looked at the USB drive in my hand.
Then at the cardboard box on the bed.
Then at the half-open door.
He knew about the ledger.
That meant someone had told him.
And there were only a few people who knew it existed.
My parents.
Their lawyer.
Ofelia.
And me.
I slipped the USB drive into the inside pocket of my coat.
Ofelia stepped toward the door.
“You shouldn't be here, Mateo.”
The shadow didn't move.
“You know why I'm here.”
“No.”
A pause.
“Yes, you do.”
I whispered, “Don't open the door.”
Ofelia looked at me.
For a second, I thought she would listen.
Then she reached for the handle.
I caught her arm.
“Wait.”
The shadow suddenly disappeared.
The footsteps moved away.
Quickly.
I stared at the hallway.
“Where did he go?”
Ofelia pushed the door open.
Nobody was there.
Only the empty corridor.
The emergency lights had come back on.
I stepped outside.
My eyes moved from one end of the hallway to the other.
Nothing.
No man.
No footsteps.
No open door.
Then I noticed the elevator.
The numbers above it were changing.
Ground floor.
Second.
Third.
Fourth.
Someone was going down.
“He's leaving,” I said.
Ofelia shook her head.
“No.”
“What?”
“He didn't come from the elevator.”
She pointed toward the opposite end of the hallway.
“There is another staircase.”
I ran.
The door at the end of the corridor slammed shut just as I reached it.
I pulled it open.
The staircase was empty.
But there was something on the floor.
A black leather glove.
I picked it up.
It was still warm.
My phone rang.
I nearly dropped it.
My attorney's name appeared on the screen.
“Valeria, where are you?”
“Tlalpan.”
“Get out of there.”
“Why?”
“Because someone just accessed the court file.”
My heart stopped.
“Who?”
“I don't know yet.”
“What did they access?”
“The original medical documents.”
I looked at Ofelia.
“What about them?”
“They were removed from the digital system.”
“That can't happen.”
“It just did.”
I tightened my grip around the glove.
“Someone is trying to destroy the evidence.”
“I'm aware.”
“Can you stop it?”
“I'm trying.”
I lowered my voice.
“And the handwritten letter?”
Silence.
“What letter?”
“The one my parents submitted.”
“I know about it.”
“No. You don't understand.”
I looked at the black glove.
“The signature is wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“My grandmother always crossed her t's with a long stroke.”
“I know.”
I froze.
“You know?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Another pause.
“Because I had a handwriting expert examine it.”
My pulse quickened.
“What did they find?”
“Call me when you're somewhere safe.”
“Tell me.”
“Valeria—”
“Tell me.”
He exhaled.
“The letter was written by someone who had access to Teresa's handwriting.”
I stared into the empty staircase.
“Someone close to her?”
“Yes.”
“Could it have been my father?”
“We don't know.”
“My mother?”
“We don't know.”
“Then who?”
My attorney lowered his voice.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“The ink is authentic.”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“The paper and ink date back to the same period as the letter.”
“So?”
“So whoever forged it didn't simply copy the signature.”
My stomach tightened.
“They wrote it at the time.”
“Yes.”
I couldn't speak.
My grandmother had died believing someone might forge her wishes.
But the letter had been created months before the lawsuit.
Someone had planned this.
Long before she died.
I ended the call.
Ofelia was standing behind me.
“Who was that?”
“My attorney.”
“What did he say?”
“That the letter was prepared in advance.”
She closed her eyes.
“Then Teresa was right.”
“About what?”
“She told me they had started before she died.”
I turned toward her.
“Who?”
Ofelia looked at the glove in my hand.
“Your father.”
My throat went dry.
“You're sure?”
“No.”
“Then why did you say it?”
“Because Teresa told me.”
“What exactly did she say?”
Ofelia looked around the corridor.
Then she lowered her voice.
“She said, ‘Sergio doesn't want my money, Valeria.’”
I waited.
“What did she mean?”
“She said he wanted control.”
“Control of what?”
“Everything.”
We returned to Teresa's room.
I closed the door.
Then I locked it.
Ofelia sat on the edge of the bed.
I placed the photographs and documents on the table.
“Tell me everything.”
She stared at me.
“You may not like what you hear.”
“I already don't.”
She nodded.
“Six months before Teresa died, your father began visiting more often.”
“How often?”
“Every week.”
“He told me he rarely visited.”
“He lied.”
“What did he do?”
“At first, he brought flowers.”
“That sounds normal.”
“Then he brought papers.”
My stomach tightened.
“What papers?”
“Financial documents.”
“Did my grandmother sign anything?”
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes?”
“She refused most of them.”
“Which ones did she sign?”
“I don't know.”
“Did she tell you?”
Ofelia looked toward the window.
“She told me she had made copies.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
I thought about the blue ledger.
Maybe it wasn't just a ledger.
Maybe it contained the copies.
Maybe it contained evidence of every attempt my father had made to control her assets.
I opened the box again.
There were receipts.
Bank statements.
Medical records.
Photographs.
But no ledger.
I searched underneath everything.
Nothing.
“Maybe Teresa moved it,” I said.
“She did.”
I looked up.
“You know where?”
“No.”
“Then why say she moved it?”
“Because I saw her.”
“When?”
“The day before she died.”
“What was she carrying?”
“A blue notebook.”
My heart began pounding.
“Where did she take it?”
“She left this room.”
“Where?”
“She told me she was going to meet someone.”
“Who?”
“She didn't say.”
“Did she leave the building?”
“No.”
I stared at her.
“Then where did she go?”
Ofelia hesitated.
“To the basement.”
I felt a chill.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“Was someone waiting?”
“I don't know.”
“Ofelia.”
She looked at me.
“Please.”
She sighed.
“There is an old storage room beneath the building.”
“What's inside?”
“Files.”
“Could the ledger be there?”
“Yes.”
We left the room.
The basement was colder than the rest of the building.
The elevator took us down one floor.
The lights flickered above us.
Ofelia unlocked a metal door.
Inside were shelves filled with boxes.
I started searching.
One shelf.
Then another.
Dust covered everything.
After fifteen minutes, I found a blue folder.
Not the ledger.
A folder labeled:
T.L. — PRIVATE
I opened it.
Inside were bank statements.
Property documents.
And a photocopy of my parents' signatures.
I stared at them.
“What is this?”
Ofelia stepped closer.
“I've never seen that.”
There were dates beside the signatures.
Payments.
Transfers.
Companies I didn't recognize.
Then I saw one name.
Landa Storage Holdings.
My grandmother owned the company.
My father had managed it.
I kept turning pages.
Money had been moved.
Large amounts.
Millions of pesos.
Some went to legitimate business accounts.
Others went to shell companies.
One company appeared repeatedly.
M.S. Consulting.
My breath caught.
“Mateo Salcedo.”
Ofelia nodded slowly.
“That name again.”
I photographed every page.
Then I found something worse.
A transfer made six months before Teresa's death.
Eight million pesos.
From one of my grandmother's accounts.
To M.S. Consulting.
But Teresa had never mentioned it.
I flipped to the next page.
There was a handwritten note.
My grandmother's handwriting.
Only four words.
Sergio knows everything.
I stared at it.
Then another page.
Claudia knows enough.
Another.
Valeria knows nothing.
My chest tightened.
I suddenly understood.
My grandmother had been protecting me.
She had deliberately kept me ignorant.
Not because she didn't trust me.
Because she didn't want me involved.
A sound came from behind us.
A metallic click.
Ofelia froze.
I turned.
The basement door had closed.
We were alone.
Then I heard footsteps upstairs.
Slow.
Measured.
Coming down the stairs.
I grabbed the folder.
“Turn off the light.”
Ofelia switched it off.
Darkness swallowed the room.
The footsteps continued.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then silence.
I held my breath.
Someone was standing outside.
The door handle moved.
Once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
Ofelia pressed a hand over her mouth.
My phone vibrated in my pocket.
I almost screamed.
I pulled it out.
A message.
Unknown number.
You found the folder.
Another message arrived immediately.
Now find the letter Teresa wrote before the fake one.
My heart pounded.
A third message appeared.
It is hidden where she used to play dominoes with you.
I looked at Ofelia.
“My grandmother's room.”
“No,” she whispered.
“Why?”
“Because she never played dominoes there.”
I stared at her.
“Where did we play?”
She pointed toward the hallway.
“The garden.”
We rushed upstairs.
The courtyard was empty.
Rain tapped against the glass roof.
At the far end stood an old wooden table.
The same table where Teresa and I had played every Saturday.
I walked toward it.
One of the domino pieces was still sitting beneath the bench.
Yellow.
The color she always hated.
I picked it up.
Something was scratched into the underside.
A number.
214.
My grandmother's old room number.
I ran back inside.
Ofelia followed.
Room 214 was empty.
I searched the nightstand.
Nothing.
The closet.
Nothing.
The mattress.
Nothing.
Then I remembered the domino.
I looked at the floor.
There was a loose tile beneath the bed.
I knelt down.
My fingers slipped into the gap.
Something was hidden underneath.
An envelope.
Old.
Sealed.
My name was written across it.
But this time, the handwriting was different.
Not my grandmother's.
It belonged to someone else.
I opened it.
Inside was a single page.
The first sentence made my blood run cold.
Valeria, if you are reading this, the letter your parents gave the court is not the first letter Teresa wrote.
I read the next line.
The original is still in this building.
Then the lights went out.
Again.
Ofelia gasped.
Somewhere in the hallway, a woman's voice whispered my name.
“Valeria…”
I turned toward the door.
The voice came again.
Closer.
“Valeria, don't trust Ofelia.”
Ofelia went completely still.
Then someone slipped a photograph underneath the door.
I bent down and picked it up.
It showed my grandmother sitting at the same wooden table.
Beside her sat Mateo Salcedo.
But there was another person in the photograph.
Someone I recognized immediately.
My mother.
May you like
And on the back, written in fresh black ink, were five words:
Ask your mother about August fourteenth.
