Chapter 9 - The Witness From Tlalpan
The message remained on the safe screen.
YOU HAVE TEN MINUTES.
I stared at the final line.
HE IS THE ONLY ONE WHO KNOWS WHERE YOUR GRANDMOTHER HID THE ORIGINAL ACCOUNT.
I turned toward Mateo.
He didn't move.
“Tell me where it is.”
“I can't.”
“You just told me you were the only one who knew.”
“I said I knew where your grandmother hid something. I didn't say I knew what it was.”
“You're lying again.”
“No.”
I held up the bank statement.
“This account was opened in my name.”
“Yes.”
“Money was transferred through your company.”
“Yes.”
“Someone paid people to watch me.”
“Yes.”
“And now someone wants me to believe you are the only person who can lead me to the truth.”
Mateo looked at the safe.
“That's exactly what they want.”
“Then we're not going to do what they want.”
The safe screen flickered.
08:41
Eight minutes and forty-one seconds.
Mateo stepped toward me.
“We need to leave.”
“No.”
“Valeria.”
“My mother is upstairs.”
“If she's still here.”
I froze.
He continued.
“This house was searched.”
“I know.”
“No. You don't.”
He pointed toward the floor.
“Look at the dust.”
I followed his finger.
There were footprints.
Several.
Some belonged to my shoes.
Some to Mateo.
But there was another set.
Smaller.
A woman's.
They began near the staircase and stopped directly outside my father's office.
“Someone came upstairs,” I whispered.
“Yes.”
“Where did they go?”
Mateo followed the footprints.
They disappeared beside the bookcase.
He moved the shelf.
Nothing.
Then he pushed harder.
A hidden latch clicked.
The bookcase shifted.
Behind it was a narrow passage.
I stared at him.
“You knew about this?”
“No.”
“Then how did you find it?”
“Your father wasn't as clever as he thought.”
We entered.
The passage smelled of old paper and dust.
A light flickered at the far end.
My mother had never mentioned this room.
Neither had my grandmother.
The passage ended at a small wooden door.
Mateo opened it.
Inside was a cramped office.
A desk.
Two filing cabinets.
A wall covered with photographs.
I stepped closer.
My photographs.
There were dozens.
Me leaving work.
Me entering the courthouse.
Me visiting my grandmother.
Me sitting alone in cafés.
My stomach turned.
Someone had been watching me for years.
But there were other photographs.
My grandmother.
My mother.
Mateo.
My father.
Dr. Mena.
And one woman I didn't recognize.
She appeared in photograph after photograph.
Always at a distance.
Always watching.
I pointed at her.
“Who is she?”
Mateo stared.
“I don't know.”
“You've never seen her?”
“Not that I remember.”
I took one photograph from the wall.
The woman stood outside Teresa's nursing residence.
The date was six months before my grandmother died.
On the back was a handwritten note:
SHE KNOWS ABOUT THE ORIGINAL.
“What original?”
Mateo looked at the cabinets.
“We need to find the files.”
I opened the first drawer.
Empty.
Second.
Empty.
Third.
Folders.
Hundreds of them.
Each labeled with a date.
I pulled out one.
AUGUST 14.
Inside was a medical record.
Not Teresa's.
Mine.
My name was printed at the top.
I stared at it.
“This isn't possible.”
Mateo took it.
His expression changed.
“What?”
“This is a psychological evaluation.”
I felt cold.
“Why would my father have one?”
Mateo read the date.
“Three years ago.”
“Before the lawsuit.”
“Yes.”
“Before Grandma died.”
“Yes.”
I read the report.
It claimed I suffered from severe anxiety.
Paranoia.
Memory distortion.
Difficulty distinguishing suspicion from fact.
I laughed.
It wasn't funny.
“They were preparing a defense against me before I knew there was a case.”
Mateo nodded.
“They wanted to make you look unstable.”
“Why?”
“Because you were the only person who could identify the forged documents.”
I stared at him.
“That makes no sense.”
“It does if they knew your profession.”
My heart sank.
“They knew.”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Longer than you think.”
I turned another page.
There was a signature.
Dr. Ricardo Mena.
Then another.
Sergio Landa.
And beneath them:
CLAUDIA LANDA.
My mother's signature.
I closed my eyes.
She had signed the evaluation.
She had helped build the story that I was unstable.
My phone vibrated.
A message.
SEVEN MINUTES.
Then another.
YOU'RE LOOKING IN THE WRONG FILE.
I stared at the screen.
“Someone is watching us.”
Mateo nodded.
“Probably.”
“How?”
He pointed toward the ceiling.
A tiny camera.
I stepped back.
“Then they can hear us.”
“Yes.”
I looked directly at the camera.
“Who are you?”
Nothing.
Then the safe in my father's office began to beep.
We rushed back.
The screen had changed.
ACCOUNT ORIGINAL LOCATION: TLALPAN
Below it was an address.
I recognized it.
The nursing residence.
My grandmother's old room.
Room 214.
I looked at Mateo.
“The original account is there.”
“Maybe.”
“And my mother?”
“Also maybe.”
“No.”
I grabbed my coat.
“We're going back.”
Mateo blocked the doorway.
“There's something you need to know.”
“What?”
“The room was searched the night your grandmother died.”
“I know.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“Your grandmother wasn't the only person in Room 214 that night.”
My heart stopped.
“Who else was there?”
“Your mother.”
“She told me she was there.”
“She lied about why.”
“Why?”
Mateo looked away.
“She wasn't visiting Teresa.”
“Then what was she doing?”
“She was looking for the account.”
I felt betrayed all over again.
“She knew about it.”
“Yes.”
“And she never told me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because she found something.”
“What?”
He didn't answer.
“Mateo.”
“She found your signature.”
“On the account.”
“Yes.”
“I never signed it.”
“I know.”
“Then whose signature was it?”
He looked directly at me.
“Yours.”
I shook my head.
“Someone forged it.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“That is what we need to find.”
My phone rang.
This time, it was the nursing residence.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A man's voice spoke.
“Ms. Landa?”
“Yes.”
“This is security at the residence.”
“What happened?”
“We found something in your grandmother's room.”
“What?”
“A hidden compartment.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Where?”
“Under the floor.”
I looked at Mateo.
“Room 214?”
“Yes.”
“What did you find?”
The guard hesitated.
“I'm not sure how to describe it.”
“Try.”
“A metal box.”
“Is it locked?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have the key?”
“No.”
I touched the silver key in my pocket.
“I do.”
The guard's voice became quieter.
“Then you need to come immediately.”
“Why?”
“Because someone else is already here.”
My blood went cold.
“Who?”
The line went silent.
“Sir?”
I heard muffled voices.
Then a crash.
The call ended.
I looked at Mateo.
“We go.”
We drove to Tlalpan.
Neither of us spoke.
Rain began falling again.
When we reached the residence, the front gate was open.
No security guard.
No administrator.
No cars.
The side entrance stood unlocked.
I entered first.
The hallway lights flickered.
Room 214 was at the end.
The door was open.
I stopped outside.
“Ofelia?”
No answer.
Mateo stepped beside me.
The room looked exactly as we had left it.
Except for the floor.
A section beside the bed had been removed.
There was a rectangular opening.
And beneath it was a metal box.
I took out the silver key.
It fit.
I turned it.
The lock opened.
Inside was a stack of documents.
A passport.
A USB drive.
Several bank cards.
And an envelope.
I picked up the passport.
My breath caught.
It belonged to my grandmother.
But the photograph wasn't Teresa.
It was another woman.
Same age.
Same eyes.
Different name.
I turned to Mateo.
“What is this?”
He stared at the passport.
“I've never seen it.”
I opened the envelope.
Inside was a letter.
The handwriting was Teresa's.
Valeria,
If you found this, then the truth about the three missing years is finally within reach.
I kept reading.
You will soon learn that your father did not create the account in your name.
My hands shook.
Neither did your mother.
I looked at Mateo.
The letter continued.
The person who opened it used a name you have known your entire life.
I swallowed.
Then I reached the final paragraph.
And if you are holding my passport, you already know the first part of the secret.
A noise came from the hallway.
Footsteps.
Mateo immediately shut off his flashlight.
We stood in darkness.
Someone walked slowly toward the room.
One step.
Another.
Then stopped outside.
A woman's voice whispered:
“Valeria?”
I knew that voice.
My mother.
I stepped toward the door.
Mateo caught my arm.
“Wait.”
My mother whispered again.
“Please.”
I looked through the narrow opening.
She was standing in the hallway.
Alone.
Her face was wet with rain.
She looked terrified.
“Mom?”
She shook her head.
“Don't come out.”
“Why?”
She looked behind her.
Then whispered:
“Because he followed me.”
A man's shadow appeared on the wall behind her.
My mother covered her mouth.
The shadow moved closer.
Then a man's voice spoke from the hallway.
“Valeria, I think it's time you met the witness.”
Mateo went rigid.
I stared at the shadow.
Another figure stepped into the light.
May you like
It was the woman from the photographs.
And in her hand was the original bank authorization bearing my forged signature...
