Chapter 8 - My Father’s Hidden Account
“Valeria, open the door.”
My mother’s voice came from the other side.
I stared at the steel door.
Mateo stood beside me, completely still.
“You said only one person had that key,” I whispered.
He nodded.
“My mother has it.”
“No.”
His eyes stayed on the lock.
“She shouldn't.”
The handle moved.
Once.
Twice.
Then stopped.
“Valeria,” my mother called again. “Please.”
I looked at Mateo.
“What do we do?”
He reached for the emergency release beside the desk.
“We leave through the back.”
“There is a back?”
“There is always a back.”
He pulled open a narrow panel behind the shelving.
A dark passage appeared.
I grabbed Teresa's letter and the recorder.
“What about my mother?”
Mateo looked toward the door.
“She came here for a reason.”
“She may be in danger.”
“So are you.”
I stepped toward the passage.
Then I heard my mother whisper through the door.
“Valeria, it's not me.”
I froze.
“What?”
Her voice came again, quieter.
“Don't open the door.”
Mateo looked at me.
I moved closer.
“Mom?”
“No.”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn't come here alone.”
A sharp sound came from behind her.
She gasped.
Then the line went silent.
I reached for the door.
Mateo grabbed my shoulder.
“Don't.”
“That's my mother.”
“And someone is standing behind her.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I can hear him breathing.”
My blood went cold.
We waited.
Nothing.
Then my mother's voice returned.
“Valeria…”
This time it sounded different.
Flat.
Controlled.
“Open the door.”
Mateo shook his head.
I whispered, “That's not her.”
A man's voice answered from the hallway.
“You're learning.”
I knew that voice.
My father's.
I stepped backward.
Mateo's expression hardened.
“Sergio.”
My father's voice came through the door.
“You have something that belongs to me.”
I held the recorder tighter.
“You mean the evidence?”
“You don't understand what you're holding.”
“I understand enough.”
“No, Valeria.”
His voice remained calm.
“You understand what your grandmother wanted you to believe.”
I looked at Mateo.
“Where is my mother?”
“She made a mistake.”
“What did you do to her?”
“Nothing.”
“You're lying.”
A pause.
Then my father laughed softly.
“You sound just like Teresa.”
I felt anger rise in my chest.
“You poisoned her.”
“No.”
“You altered her medical records.”
“No.”
“You forged her letter.”
“No.”
“Then what did you do?”
Silence.
When he answered, his voice was colder.
“I protected my family.”
Mateo stepped toward the door.
“You've always called extortion protection.”
My father replied immediately.
“And you've always confused betrayal with loyalty.”
Mateo's face changed.
“You killed the transfer.”
“I stopped you from stealing from me.”
“It was Teresa's money.”
“She was going to give it to Valeria.”
“She had every right.”
“She had no idea what she was leaving behind.”
I looked at the papers on the desk.
My father's hidden account.
The eight million pesos.
The shell companies.
The forged documents.
Suddenly, one detail bothered me.
My grandmother had said my father had been moving money for three years.
But the bank records I had seen showed something else.
There were transfers from an account I didn't recognize.
An account that had received money before my father ever knew about the inheritance.
I grabbed the folder.
“Mateo.”
“What?”
“Look at this.”
He read the statement.
His eyes narrowed.
“This isn't Sergio's account.”
“Whose is it?”
“I don't know.”
“Then why was money going into it?”
He studied the dates.
“This began four years ago.”
“Before the three-year investigation.”
“Yes.”
“Then Teresa was investigating something else.”
Mateo looked at me.
“Something bigger.”
I flipped through the pages.
There were deposits.
Large ones.
Millions.
Every few weeks.
Then withdrawals.
Always to different companies.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Landa Family Trust.
I stared at it.
“What is this?”
Mateo's face went pale.
“That's impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because Teresa closed that trust fifteen years ago.”
I turned the page.
The account was active.
Last transaction:
Nine days ago.
The day Teresa died.
I felt sick.
“Someone is still using it.”
Mateo took the paper.
“This isn't a normal account.”
“What is it?”
“It was created to hold assets for future beneficiaries.”
“Who?”
He looked at me.
“You.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“Teresa created it when you were twelve.”
I remembered nothing.
“Why didn't she tell me?”
“Because she didn't want Sergio to know.”
My father's voice came through the door.
“You've found the trust.”
I froze.
He could hear us.
He continued.
“Now you understand why this is dangerous.”
I stepped toward the door.
“You've been using my trust.”
“No.”
“Then who has?”
“I don't know.”
“Liar.”
“You think I created that account?”
“Yes.”
“You're wrong.”
“Then prove it.”
Silence.
My father finally said:
“I can't.”
That answer shocked me.
“Why?”
“Because I don't have access.”
“Who does?”
“I don't know.”
I looked at Mateo.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
My father continued.
“That's why I need what you found.”
“You want the evidence.”
“I want to know who has been moving money through that trust.”
I stared at the documents.
For the first time, I wondered whether my father was telling the truth.
Not all of it.
But perhaps enough.
“Where is my mother?”
“She knows.”
My heart tightened.
“Knows what?”
“The name of the person who opened the account.”
My mother had been involved.
She had known about the trust.
She had known about August fourteenth.
She had known about the eight million pesos.
And now my father was saying she knew who had accessed the account.
I looked at Mateo.
“We need to get her.”
He nodded.
We moved toward the hidden passage.
Before entering, I looked back at the steel door.
“Dad.”
No answer.
“If you hurt her, I will expose everything.”
A soft laugh.
“You still don't understand.”
“What?”
“The evidence you're holding isn't enough.”
“Why?”
“Because the person who can destroy your case isn't me.”
The line went silent.
Mateo looked at me.
“Move.”
We entered the passage.
It was narrow and dark.
Concrete walls pressed close around us.
After twenty feet, the passage opened into a small maintenance room.
There was a second exit.
Mateo pushed it open.
We emerged behind the warehouse.
The night air hit my face.
I immediately called my mother.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then a message arrived.
COME TO THE OLD HOUSE. ALONE.
I showed Mateo.
“It's from her.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“Why?”
“She would never tell you to come alone.”
I called her again.
This time someone answered.
My mother's breathing was rapid.
“Valeria?”
“Mom, where are you?”
“Don't come here.”
“Where are you?”
“At the house.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Is Dad there?”
Silence.
Then:
“Yes.”
My blood ran cold.
“Is he threatening you?”
“No.”
“What happened?”
My mother whispered:
“I found the account.”
“What account?”
“The one your grandmother never told you about.”
“Where?”
“Under your father's name.”
I looked at Mateo.
“What did you find?”
“Transfers.”
“How much?”
“All of it.”
“All of what?”
“The money.”
“What money?”
My mother's breathing became shaky.
“The money your grandmother thought Sergio stole.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
My mother whispered:
“He didn't steal it.”
I felt the floor disappear beneath me.
“Then who did?”
She didn't answer.
“Mom?”
“I found the original bank authorization.”
“Whose signature is on it?”
Silence.
“Mom, tell me.”
Her voice dropped to almost nothing.
“It was yours.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
“Your signature.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I know.”
“Mom, I never signed anything.”
“I know.”
“Then someone forged it.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
My mother started crying.
“I don't know.”
I looked at Mateo.
He had heard every word.
“Where is the document?”
“In your father's office.”
“I'm coming.”
“No!”
“Mom—”
“Valeria, listen to me.”
She was sobbing now.
“Your father doesn't know I found it.”
“Where are you?”
“Upstairs.”
“Can you leave?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He locked the doors.”
Mateo grabbed my arm.
“We need to go.”
I nodded.
My mother whispered:
“There's something else.”
“What?”
“I found a second account.”
“What account?”
“One opened under your name.”
My heart pounded.
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“Who opened it?”
“I don't know.”
“What was it used for?”
“Payments.”
“To whom?”
My mother hesitated.
Then she said:
“People who were watching you.”
The call ended.
I stood frozen.
Mateo looked at me.
“Your mother is in danger.”
“I know.”
“We go now.”
We drove through the city without speaking.
My mind kept returning to one thought.
An account in my name.
Three years ago.
Money paid to people watching me.
Someone had been following me before my grandmother's death.
Before the lawsuit.
Before the forged letter.
Maybe before I even knew anything was wrong.
When we reached my parents' house, every light was off.
The front door stood open.
I got out of the car.
Mateo grabbed my shoulder.
“Stay behind me.”
We entered.
The house was silent.
Too silent.
The living room had been disturbed.
Drawers were open.
Papers covered the floor.
A lamp lay broken beside the sofa.
“Mom?” I called.
No answer.
We moved upstairs.
My father's office door was open.
Inside, the desk had been overturned.
The safe stood open.
Empty.
Mateo walked toward it.
“Someone got here first.”
I looked around.
Then I noticed something on the desk.
A single white envelope.
My name.
I picked it up.
Inside was a bank statement.
The account number was partially hidden.
The name was mine.
VALERIA LANDA.
The opening date was exactly three years earlier.
The balance was enormous.
But the transactions were stranger.
Payments had been made every month.
To private investigators.
To security companies.
To doctors.
To lawyers.
And one recurring payment went to:
M.S. CONSULTING.
I looked at Mateo.
He went pale.
“I never authorized those.”
“Then someone used your company.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
I looked closer at the statement.
There was a reference number beside every payment.
Then I saw the final transaction.
Nine days ago.
The day Teresa died.
The amount was seven million pesos.
Recipient:
TERESA LANDA.
I stared at the page.
My grandmother had received money from an account opened in my name on the day she died.
But the account had been emptied afterward.
I turned the page.
There was a handwritten note.
Not my grandmother's.
Not my mother's.
Not my father's.
Just three words.
Ask Mateo why.
I slowly raised my eyes.
Mateo was standing in the doorway.
He looked at the paper.
Then at me.
“Valeria…”
Before he could say anything, a phone began ringing from inside the safe.
Mateo's face went white.
I stepped toward it.
The ringing stopped.
A second later, the safe screen lit up by itself.
One message appeared:
YOU HAVE TEN MINUTES.
Then another:
BRING MATEO.
May you like
And beneath it, a final line appeared—
HE IS THE ONLY ONE WHO KNOWS WHERE YOUR GRANDMOTHER HID THE ORIGINAL ACCOUNT.
