Chapter 8 - THE SECOND PLAYER
Alejandro survived.
That should have relieved me.
It didn’t.
Because the evidence suggested someone had tried to silence him.
The police found no obvious signs of violence.
A glass.
Medication.
A room booked under another name.
His phone missing.
Laptop missing.
Wallet untouched.
Money gone.
It looked less like robbery than cleanup.
Then the questions turned toward me.
Had Alejandro stolen from my companies?
Had we fought?
Did I have enemies?
I answered everything.
The truth was ugly enough.
That evening, Isabella sat beside me on the sofa.
Fresh bandages covered her palms.
She was watching an old animated movie she used to love.
But she wasn’t really watching.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Are you going away again?”
The question cut deeper than anything Beatriz had said.
“No.”
“What about work?”
“Work can come here.”
She thought about that.
“What if they need you in Dubai?”
“They have phones.”
A tiny smile appeared.
The first since I came home.
Then she leaned against me.
I stayed completely still.
As though moving might scare the moment away.
Later, after she fell asleep, Rosa brought me a box.
“I found this in Mrs. Alvarez’s dressing room.”
Inside were letters.
Some addressed to me.
Some from Isabella’s school.
One from Dr. Navarro’s office.
All unopened.
“What are these?”
“Mail she didn’t want you to see.”
I opened the school letter.
It was dated five weeks earlier.
Isabella’s teacher had noticed fatigue.
Poor concentration.
Missing lunches.
Frequent requests to stay at school after dismissal.
The school had requested a meeting.
Beatriz never told me.
The second letter was worse.
A counselor documented that Isabella had said she did not like going home.
My hands shook.
Then I found an envelope with no stamp.
Inside was a photograph.
Beatriz.
Alejandro.
And a third person.
A woman in dark glasses.
I knew her.
Everyone in Spanish finance knew her.
Carmen Vela.
Former chief financial officer of my company.
I fired Carmen eighteen months earlier after discovering unexplained payments.
She threatened to ruin me.
I dismissed it as anger.
Now she was sitting beside my wife and brother.
Adrian studied the photo.
“This changes things.”
“Yes.”
“If Carmen is involved, the trust may not be the real target.”
“What is?”
He looked at me.
“Your company.”
We pulled financial records until almost dawn.
At 3:40 a.m., Adrian found it.
A series of shell companies.
Transfers disguised as consulting fees.
Property options.
Short-term loans.
Someone had been hollowing out one division of my business from the inside.
The total was nearly thirty-two million euros.
All authorized by Alejandro.
But the money didn’t end with him.
It disappeared through six companies.
The seventh company had an owner.
Carmen Vela.
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And according to registration documents filed four months earlier, Carmen had a silent partner.
Beatriz Alvarez.
