Chapter 4 - The Baby They Wanted
“His wife isn't the one we're afraid of anymore.”
I stood motionless behind the storage shelves.
Ofelia's voice came through the door.
Dr. Varela lowered his voice.
“Then who?”
“The baby.”
My grip tightened around the folder.
I had expected secrets.
I had expected lies.
I had even expected an attempt to cover up what happened to Mariana.
But this was different.
They were talking about my unborn daughter as if she were a threat.
A second later, footsteps moved away from the door.
I waited.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Then I opened the emergency exit.
It led into a narrow service corridor.
I slipped through and pulled the door closed.
I didn't breathe until I reached my car.
I sat behind the wheel with the folder on the passenger seat.
My hands were trembling.
I opened it again.
The phrase remained there.
Fetal extraction protocol.
I searched through the pages.
Most were medical.
Some were financial.
Then I found a contract.
The name at the top was not Mariana's.
It belonged to a company.
Beltrán Advanced Medical Research.
I had heard of it.
It was one of the Beltrán family's private companies.
They claimed to develop treatments for rare pregnancy complications.
I kept reading.
There were references to research subjects.
Anonymous women.
Pregnancies.
Genetic samples.
Then I found Mariana's name.
Not as a patient.
As a donor.
My stomach dropped.
There was a signature.
Mariana's.
But the date was six months earlier.
I knew she had never signed anything like that.
I knew because we had argued about her family's business.
She had told me she wanted nothing to do with their research.
She had said:
“My family sees people as numbers.”
I had thought she was exaggerating.
I was wrong.
A sound came from my phone.
A new message.
Unknown number.
You found B-17.
I stared at the screen.
Another message arrived.
Now you know why they wanted her cremated.
I typed:
Who are you?
The reply came immediately.
Someone who failed to save her the first time.
I stared at those words.
Then:
Don't take the folder home.
I looked at the passenger seat.
The folder sat there.
Why?
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Finally:
Because they already know you have it.
I looked into the rearview mirror.
A black SUV was parked across the street.
Its headlights were off.
I started the engine.
The SUV started too.
I drove.
It followed.
I turned left.
It followed.
I turned again.
Still there.
I accelerated.
The SUV accelerated.
I reached the highway.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Who are you?”
A woman's voice replied.
“Take the next exit.”
“Why?”
“Because they're not trying to kill you.”
I gripped the steering wheel.
“Then what do they want?”
A pause.
“They want you alive.”
“Why?”
“So they can make you sign something.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
“The transfer.”
I almost hit the brakes.
“Transfer of what?”
“The baby.”
The call ended.
I drove directly back toward the hospital.
I needed Mariana.
I needed to know what she knew.
But when I reached her room, two security guards were standing outside.
One stepped in front of me.
“Family only.”
“I am her husband.”
He checked a tablet.
“I'm sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
He looked at me.
“Your wife has been transferred.”
My heart stopped.
“Transferred where?”
He hesitated.
Then gave me a piece of paper.
I looked at it.
There was no hospital name.
No physician.
Only a handwritten room number.
17.
I looked up.
“Who authorized this?”
The guard pointed toward the end of the corridor.
Dr. Varela was standing there.
Beside him stood Ofelia.
And between them was Renato.
Ofelia smiled faintly.
“Julián.”
I walked toward them.
“Where is my wife?”
Nobody answered.
I stepped closer.
“Where is Mariana?”
Renato looked at his mother.
Then at me.
And finally said:
“She isn't in this hospital anymore.”
My heart pounded.
“Where did you take her?”
Ofelia reached into her handbag.
She pulled out a document.
“You'll find out.”
She extended it toward me.
I took it.
It was a consent form.
My name was already printed at the bottom.
But I had never signed it.
I looked at the signature.
It looked exactly like mine.
Then I saw the final line.
Authorization for transfer of fetal custody.
I looked up.
“What did you do?”
Ofelia's expression finally broke.
“You were always going to be difficult.”
She stepped closer.
“So we had to make sure you couldn't say no.”
My phone vibrated.
I looked down.
A message had arrived.
From Mariana.
May you like
Three words.
Julián, run now.
