Chapter 8 - BEATRIZ STRIKES FIRST
By eight the next morning, Elena had frozen the transfer through our corporate controls.
By nine, my auditors were reviewing six months of transactions.
By ten, Beatriz had hired an attorney.
At eleven, she struck first.
A formal complaint alleged that I had returned from Dubai unexpectedly, intimidated her, removed Isabella from the marital home, and threatened to use my wealth to destroy her.
It was carefully written.
Almost professionally anticipated.
Elena read it twice.
“She prepared for this.”
I nodded.
“She expected me to find out eventually.”
“Maybe.”
Elena tapped one paragraph.
“Or Lucas expected it.”
Beatriz’s complaint described Isabella’s chores as normal household responsibilities.
It claimed Rosa was a disgruntled former employee.
It suggested the security recordings had been selectively interpreted.
Then came the sentence that made my hands tighten.
Beatriz claimed Isabella had behavioral problems.
Lying.
Defiance.
Manipulation.
Attention-seeking.
I closed the document.
Elena watched me.
“Don’t react emotionally.”
“I know.”
“She wants you angry.”
“I know.”
“She wants messages she can show a judge.”
“I know.”
Isabella walked into the room wearing a yellow T-shirt Rosa had bought her.
She stopped when she saw our expressions.
“Did I do something?”
“No.”
The answer came from Elena before I could speak.
She crouched slightly so she wasn’t towering over Isabella.
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Isabella looked at me.
I nodded.
“She’s right.”
My daughter hesitated.
“Is Beatriz coming?”
“No.”
“Is she trying to?”
I didn’t lie.
“She’s talking to lawyers.”
Fear flashed across her face.
Elena spoke gently.
“There are people whose job is to listen to children safely.”
Isabella stared at her.
“Will they believe me?”
That question had followed her everywhere.
I pulled a chair beside mine.
“Sit with me.”
She did.
I opened my laptop.
I didn’t show her the footage.
I only showed her the folder containing it.
“There are videos.”
Her eyes widened.
“Of the garden?”
“Yes.”
“And the terrace?”
“Yes.”
Her shoulders dropped.
Not from fear.
From relief.
“You saw?”
“I saw.”
She looked down.
Then she whispered.
“So I don’t have to prove it.”
“No.”
May you like
I put my arm around her.
“You never should have had to.”
