Chapter 15 - THE LONGEST DRIVE
Seville was more than two hours away.
Police helicopters moved ahead.
Road units established surveillance around the old estate.
I traveled with Adrian and Detective Morales.
Nobody spoke for the first forty minutes.
Then Morales turned toward me.
“There’s something you need to understand.”
“What?”
“People in Beatriz’s situation become unpredictable when control collapses.”
I looked out the window.
“She has Isabella.”
“Yes.”
“So don’t ask me to stay calm.”
“I’m asking you to stay useful.”
That reached me.
Useful.
The word Beatriz had used against Isabella.
I hated it.
But Morales was right.
At 10:48 p.m., Beatriz called.
No video.
Only audio.
“Are you coming?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“No.”
She laughed softly.
“At least you finally stopped lying badly.”
“Let me speak to Isabella.”
A pause.
Then my daughter’s voice.
“Dad?”
“I’m here.”
“I’m sorry.”
My throat closed.
“For what?”
“I left my bracelet.”
“No.”
I forced my voice steady.
“That helped me find you.”
“It did?”
“Yes.”
“And the drawing?”
“That too.”
She breathed out.
Almost a laugh.
I closed my eyes.
“You’re doing perfectly.”
Beatriz took the phone.
“How touching.”
“What do you want?”
“You.”
“You already have my attention.”
“No, Mateo.”
She sounded tired now.
“I want you to understand.”
“Understand what?”
“What your family did.”
“My family didn’t steal from yours.”
“My father died in disgrace.”
“Because he stole from Carmen’s father.”
Silence.
I knew I had hit something.
“You’re lying.”
“I have the records.”
“My father told me what happened.”
“Your father used Carmen’s family as cover.”
“You shut up.”
Her voice broke for the first time.
Then hardened.
“You don’t get to rewrite him.”
“I’m not.”
“I’m telling you what the documents say.”
“You think paper is truth?”
“No.”
I looked at Morales.
“Isabella is.”
Silence.
Then the call ended.
We arrived at the estate at 11:37.
The house was enormous once.
Now half the windows were broken.
Stone stained by decades of rain.
Police surrounded the property from a distance.
Thermal cameras detected two people inside.
One adult.
One child.
Alive.
At 11:52, Beatriz sent one final message.
COME TO THE FRONT DOOR.
NO POLICE.
OR SHE NEVER LEAVES THIS HOUSE.
Morales looked at me.
“You are not going in alone.”
“She’ll see you.”
“We have a plan.”
“What plan?”
He handed me a small audio transmitter.
“You talk.”
“You keep her focused.”
“We move when we can.”
I looked at the dark house.
Every instinct told me to run inside.
Instead, I thought of Isabella kneeling in garbage.
Not crying.
Not asking for help.
Because she believed nobody would come.
May you like
I clipped the transmitter beneath my shirt.
Then I walked toward the door.
