Chapter 13 - THE ROOM UNDER THE HOUSE
Police surrounded the villa.
I wanted to tear the building apart with my hands.
Instead, I forced myself to think.
Where Sofia hid hers.
Sofia had lived in the villa with me for four years.
She knew every corner.
The old underground storage room had once been used by my father for documents.
After Sofia died, I sealed it during renovation.
Or thought I did.
The entrance was behind a built-in wine cabinet.
Police opened it.
A narrow staircase disappeared into darkness.
I went down with two officers.
At the bottom, we found the room.
Empty.
No Isabella.
But someone had been there.
Dust disturbed.
A chair moved.
A lamp still warm.
On the table sat an old video camera.
Beside it was a photograph of Sofia.
I pressed play.
Beatriz appeared on the screen.
The recording was live.
She was somewhere else.
Isabella sat behind her.
Alive.
Terrified.
My knees nearly gave out.
“Dad.”
Her voice was small.
I moved toward the screen.
“I’m here.”
Of course she couldn’t hear me.
Beatriz smiled.
“Hello, Mateo.”
“You always loved puzzles.”
“I used to find that charming.”
She leaned toward the camera.
“You have six hours.”
An officer beside me immediately began tracing the signal.
Beatriz continued.
“You will transfer thirty million euros to the account appearing on the screen.”
“You will withdraw all statements against me.”
“You will tell investigators Alejandro acted alone.”
“And then Isabella comes home.”
I stared at the image.
Beatriz touched Isabella’s shoulder.
My daughter recoiled.
Beatriz’s expression flickered.
For the first time, I saw something almost like hatred.
Not toward me.
Toward Isabella.
“You ruined everything.”
She whispered to her.
Then she looked back at the camera.
“Six hours.”
The feed ended.
The officer turned toward me.
“We’re tracing it.”
“How long?”
“Signal is bouncing through multiple networks.”
“How long?”
“We don’t know.”
I looked at the account number.
Then at Adrian.
He understood immediately.
“You’re not actually paying.”
“I’m going to make her believe I am.”
Police objected.
I listened.
Then I called my bank.
Thirty million euros was too large to move instantly.
Which was exactly why Beatriz had chosen it.
She expected delays.
Negotiation.
Time.
But she made one mistake.
She thought money was still the thing I feared losing most.
I instructed the bank to prepare a transfer authorization.
Then I recorded a message.
“Beatriz.”
“I’ll do it.”
“But I need proof Isabella is safe.”
Five minutes later, a reply arrived.
A photograph.
Isabella standing beside a yellow door.
Behind her was a window.
And through that window, barely visible, was a strip of ocean.
Adrian enlarged the image.
“Look.”
On the glass was a reflection.
A sign.
Reversed.
Three letters.
MAR.
Then a number.
I knew exactly where she was.
May you like
Mar Azul Marina.
Warehouse 17.
