Chapter 4 - The Woman Who Knew My Secret
I stared at the photograph until the edges began to blur.
My mother.
My grandmother.
Mateo Salcedo.
August fourteenth.
The date printed on the corner of the photograph matched the date on the forged medical report.
That couldn't be a coincidence.
I turned the photograph over again.
Ask your mother about August fourteenth.
The handwriting wasn't my grandmother's.
It wasn't my mother's either.
I knew that because Claudia had spent years leaving handwritten notes around the house when I was growing up.
Buy milk.
Call your father.
Don't forget your appointment.
Her handwriting was sharp and narrow.
This was different.
The letters were rounded.
Careful.
Almost deliberately calm.
Ofelia stood behind me.
“Who wrote that?”
“I don't know.”
“You need to leave.”
I turned toward her.
“You said that before.”
“And I'm saying it again.”
“Why?”
She looked toward the hallway.
“Because someone is inside this building.”
I folded the photograph and slipped it into my coat.
“Then we leave together.”
“No.”
“Ofelia—”
“If they see me with you, they will know I gave you the files.”
I stared at her.
“Who are you afraid of?”
She didn't answer.
Instead, she walked toward the window.
“Your grandmother told me something the night before she died.”
“What?”
“She said, ‘When Valeria finally learns the truth, she'll think everyone betrayed her.’”
My chest tightened.
“Did she say who betrayed me?”
Ofelia looked at me.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“She said, ‘The first person she suspects won't be the one who betrayed her.’”
I frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
“You do know something.”
“I know enough to be frightened.”
Before I could respond, my phone rang.
My mother.
I stared at the screen.
Claudia.
Ofelia whispered, “Don't answer.”
I answered.
“Hello?”
Silence.
Then my mother's voice.
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“You're lying.”
I said nothing.
She breathed slowly.
“Valeria, listen to me.”
“What happened on August fourteenth?”
Silence.
A long one.
Then she asked:
“Who told you?”
I closed my eyes.
That was enough.
She knew.
“You were there,” I said.
“No.”
“You were in the photograph.”
Another silence.
“Where did you get that photograph?”
“That doesn't matter.”
“It matters very much.”
My mother's voice became colder.
“You don't understand what you're doing.”
“I understand that you lied to me.”
“I'm trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
She didn't answer.
“From Dad?”
“No.”
“From Mateo?”
My mother stopped breathing for a moment.
I heard it.
That tiny hesitation.
“You know his name.”
“Valeria, don't say his name over the phone.”
“Why?”
“Because you don't know who is listening.”
I looked at Ofelia.
She had gone pale.
“Tell me what happened on August fourteenth.”
“Not on the phone.”
“Then tell me where.”
My mother hesitated.
“Come to the house.”
“I won't.”
“Then we can't talk.”
“You've been lying to me for years.”
“I know.”
The words came so quietly that I almost missed them.
My heart sank.
“What?”
“I said I know.”
“Mom…”
“Don't trust your father.”
The call ended.
I stood motionless.
Ofelia looked at me.
“What did she say?”
I repeated the last sentence.
Ofelia sat down.
“Then she knows.”
“Knows what?”
“The reason Teresa changed the will.”
I stared at her.
“What was the reason?”
Ofelia shook her head.
“I promised your grandmother.”
“You've already given me half the truth.”
“And the other half could get you hurt.”
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“To my mother's house.”
Ofelia stood.
“She told you not to trust your father.”
“She didn't say not to trust her.”
“She didn't have to.”
I stopped.
“What are you saying?”
Ofelia looked directly at me.
“Your mother was the last person to speak to Teresa before she died.”
The words hit me harder than they should have.
“How do you know?”
“I was there.”
I turned slowly.
“You were there?”
“Yes.”
“What did you hear?”
Ofelia swallowed.
“Your grandmother was angry.”
“At my mother?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She accused Claudia of stealing from her.”
My stomach twisted.
“How much?”
“Eight million pesos.”
The same amount in the document.
The transfer to M.S. Consulting.
I pulled out my phone and opened the photograph of the financial statement.
“Was Mateo involved?”
“I don't know.”
“But the money went to his company.”
“Yes.”
“And my mother was there.”
“Yes.”
I looked at the photograph again.
Suddenly, it felt different.
My mother wasn't simply standing beside Teresa and Mateo.
She was standing between them.
As if she were negotiating something.
I zoomed in.
There was a folder on the table.
Blue.
My breath caught.
“The ledger.”
Ofelia stepped closer.
“That might be it.”
“No.”
I enlarged the image.
The blue object wasn't a ledger.
It was a small notebook.
On its cover was a symbol.
A black circle crossed by a diagonal line.
I had seen it before.
On my father's old business documents.
“Do you recognize that?”
Ofelia shook her head.
I did.
But I couldn't remember where.
I left the residence alone.
My car felt too quiet.
I didn't turn on the radio.
I needed to think.
August fourteenth.
The fake medical report.
The photograph.
The eight-million-peso transfer.
My mother.
Mateo.
And the mysterious blue ledger.
Everything was connected.
But I didn't know how.
My mother's house was forty minutes away.
I almost turned around twice.
Then I remembered Teresa's letter.
Fight them with facts.
I parked across the street.
The house looked exactly as it had when I was a child.
White walls.
Dark wooden door.
The same small iron balcony.
I walked to the entrance.
Before I knocked, the door opened.
My mother stood there.
She wasn't wearing mourning clothes anymore.
She wore a cream blouse and black trousers.
Her face looked exhausted.
“You came.”
“Yes.”
She stepped aside.
I entered.
The house smelled like coffee.
For a moment, I remembered being sixteen.
Coming home after school.
My mother waiting in the kitchen.
My father reading the newspaper.
A normal family.
Except now I knew normal had been an illusion.
She closed the door.
“Sit down.”
“I don't want coffee.”
“I wasn't going to offer you coffee.”
I sat.
She remained standing.
“You saw the photograph.”
“Yes.”
“Who gave it to you?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because if they gave it to you, then they know you have the file.”
“Who are they?”
My mother looked toward the window.
“I don't know.”
“You know Mateo.”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Almost ten years.”
My heart sank.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because your father didn't want you involved.”
“My father hired him.”
She looked at me.
“Yes.”
“To do what?”
My mother didn't answer.
I stood.
“You wanted me to think I was imagining things.”
“No.”
“You told me I was paranoid.”
“I was trying to keep you away from the business.”
“You told me Grandma was becoming difficult.”
“She was.”
“She was afraid.”
“Yes.”
“Of Dad?”
My mother closed her eyes.
“Of what he had become.”
I stared at her.
“Did he steal from her?”
“Yes.”
The word came out like a whisper.
I felt my knees weaken.
“How much?”
“I don't know.”
“Eight million?”
She looked at me.
“I don't know.”
“Why did the money go to Mateo's company?”
“Because Mateo was supposed to return it.”
“Return it to whom?”
“Your grandmother.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
I sat down again.
“Then why didn't Grandma report it?”
“Because your father threatened her.”
My voice became quieter.
“What did he threaten?”
“To destroy everything she had built.”
“That doesn't explain the will.”
My mother looked at me.
“It does.”
“No.”
“It does.”
She walked to a cabinet.
Opened it.
Removed a small envelope.
Then placed it on the table.
“This was given to me by Teresa.”
I stared at it.
“Why?”
“She told me to keep it until you were ready.”
I picked it up.
My name was written on the front.
Again.
But this time, the handwriting was unmistakably my grandmother's.
I looked at my mother.
“When did she give you this?”
“The day before she died.”
“Why didn't you give it to me?”
“Because she told me not to.”
“She told you to wait?”
“Yes.”
“Until when?”
“Until you discovered the truth about August fourteenth.”
My fingers trembled.
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a single key.
Small.
Silver.
And beneath it, a handwritten note.
Valeria,
If your mother gives you this key, then she has finally told you enough.
Do not use it until you know who betrayed me.
I read it twice.
Then a second sheet fell out.
It contained one sentence.
The person who forged my letter is the person who knew exactly how I signed my name.
I looked at my mother.
“Who had access to my grandmother's personal papers?”
She hesitated.
“Your father.”
“Anyone else?”
“Me.”
I stared at her.
“You.”
“Yes.”
“Did you forge the letter?”
“No.”
“Did you help someone forge it?”
“No.”
“Then why are you afraid?”
She sat across from me.
“Because I know who did.”
My heart stopped.
“Who?”
My mother looked toward the hallway.
Then she lowered her voice.
“I can't say his name here.”
“Why?”
“Because your father put something in this house.”
“What?”
“A listening device.”
I stared at her.
“You're serious?”
She nodded.
“Three days after your grandmother died, I found it.”
“Where?”
“Behind the painting in the living room.”
I looked toward the wall.
She continued.
“I destroyed it.”
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
“What do you mean?”
“I found another one yesterday.”
My blood ran cold.
“Where?”
She pointed toward the ceiling.
I looked up.
A tiny red light blinked above the smoke detector.
Someone was listening.
My mother grabbed my hand.
“Don't say anything.”
I nodded.
She took a piece of paper and wrote:
LEAVE NOW.
I wrote back:
WHO?
She stared at me.
Then wrote two words.
NOT HIM.
I frowned.
She wrote another sentence.
THE PERSON LISTENING IS ALREADY INSIDE THE HOUSE.
A floorboard creaked upstairs.
My mother froze.
We both looked toward the staircase.
Another creak.
Then a slow footstep.
Someone was coming down.
My mother reached for my hand.
The staircase remained empty.
Another step.
Closer.
Then my mother's phone vibrated on the table.
She looked at the screen.
Her face drained of color.
I leaned closer.
A message had arrived from an unknown number.
You shouldn't have given her the key.
My mother dropped the phone.
Then we heard a lock click upstairs.
My eyes went to the hallway.
My mother whispered, “He's here.”
I stood.
“Who?”
She looked at me, terrified.
And before she could answer, a man's voice called from the second floor—
“Claudia…”
The voice was calm.
May you like
Familiar.
And then it called my name.
