Chapter 5 - THE SECOND LIFE OF BEATRIZ ÁLVAREZBy midnight, I knew two things.
First, Isabella would never spend another night under the same roof as Beatriz.
Second, I had never truly known the woman I had planned to marry.
The authorities arranged for Beatriz to leave the villa while the investigation continued.
She went reluctantly.
Before stepping into the car, she turned toward me.
"This can still be fixed."
I said nothing.
"You know me."
That finally made me respond.
"No."
Her face tightened.
"Apparently I don't."
The car door closed.
I watched the taillights disappear beyond the gate.
Then I went upstairs to Isabella.
She had fallen asleep in my bed with every light in the room turned on.
Teresa sat beside her.
"She didn't want darkness."
I nodded.
"Leave them on."
"All night?"
"Every night if she wants."
Teresa left.
I sat on the floor beside the bed.
For an hour, I simply watched my daughter breathe.
She woke once around two.
"Daddy?"
"I'm here."
"You won't go to Dubai tomorrow?"
"No."
"Next week?"
"No."
"When?"
I thought carefully before answering.
"Not until you want me to."
Her eyes closed.
"Okay."
Within seconds she was asleep again.
I wasn't.
At four in the morning, Sofia sent me a message.
We found something. Library. Now.
Andrés was there when I arrived.
Three laptops sat open across the table.
Sofia pointed at the first.
"Your villa is owned through Serrano Family Holdings."
"Yes."
"Who benefits from the structure?"
"Isabella."
"And after her?"
I frowned.
"There is no after her. Ultimately, it's hers."
"Correct."
She turned the laptop.
"Six weeks ago, someone submitted amendments to an internal corporate registry changing certain voting proxies."
"Impossible."
"They were rejected because authentication was incomplete."
"Whose proxies?"
"Yours."
My stomach tightened.
"To whom?"
"Beatriz."
I stared at the screen.
"My signature?"
"Forged."
"Javier?"
"His electronic credentials authenticated several supporting documents."
I sat down.
"What were they trying to do?"
Sofia leaned against the table.
"We don't know yet."
Andrés spoke.
"We may know part of it."
He opened another screen.
"I reviewed access records from your office computers. Javier used the terminal here repeatedly."
"To access company accounts?"
"Some."
"What else?"
"Your personal trust documents."
I felt cold.
"And your prenuptial agreement draft."
That surprised me.
"Beatriz never saw the final draft."
"Apparently she did."
I remembered the argument.
Six months earlier.
Beatriz wanted a wedding date.
I wanted another year.
Not because I didn't care for her.
Because something felt rushed.
She had called me emotionally unavailable.
I had apologized.
Bought flowers.
Promised we would discuss it after Dubai.
Now that memory seemed grotesque.
"What would marriage change?" I asked Sofia.
"Directly? Less than they may have believed. Your final agreement protected your premarital assets."
"Then why the rush?"
"Because Beatriz may not have known what was in the final version."
Andrés turned the third laptop.
"I ran her identity through our corporate due-diligence database."
"And?"
"Beatriz Álvarez has very little financial history before five years ago."
"So?"
"So I searched variations."
He tapped the screen.
A photograph appeared.
Beatriz.
Younger.
Different hair.
Different surname.
BEATRIZ NAVARRO.
Underneath were records from Argentina.
A civil judgment.
Two dissolved companies.
A fraud complaint that had never resulted in conviction.
And a marriage.
I stared at the screen.
"She was married?"
"Yes."
"She told me she had never been married."
"She lied."
"Who was the husband?"
Andrés opened a photograph.
The man was standing beside Beatriz outside a courthouse.
I had never seen him.
At least, I thought I hadn't.
Then I noticed the name.
Raúl Navarro.
I knew Raúl.
Not personally.
But his company had received millions of euros in construction contracts from us over the previous eighteen months.
I stood so quickly the chair struck the wall.
"Navarro Development?"
Andrés nodded.
"Owned through two intermediary companies."
"By him?"
"Ultimately, yes."
I turned toward Sofia.
"Javier approved those contracts."
"Most of them."
My mind moved through numbers.
Renovations.
Resort procurement.
Villa improvements.
Vendor deposits.
Emergency change orders.
Millions.
Potentially tens of millions.
Beatriz had not stumbled into my world.
She had entered it.
Strategically.
"How did I miss this?"
Neither of them answered.
Because there was no good answer.
I had trusted references.
Javier had introduced us at a charity event in Madrid three years earlier.
I remembered the evening clearly.
Beatriz wore a black dress.
Javier had leaned toward me and said:
"You two would be perfect together."
At the time it sounded like harmless matchmaking.
Now it sounded like the first move in a long game.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
"Mr. Serrano?"
"Yes."
"This is Elena Morales from Colegio San Gabriel."
Isabella's school.
"I apologize for contacting you so early, but I received several messages last night regarding Isabella."
"What messages?"
"A request from Ms. Álvarez asking us to release Isabella's psychological assessment."
My heart stopped.
"What psychological assessment?"
Silence.
"You weren't informed?"
"No."
The woman sounded alarmed.
"We were told you requested it."
"I did not."
"Mr. Serrano..."
"What happened?"
"Isabella was referred to our school counselor six weeks ago."
"Why?"
"She fell asleep during class repeatedly. She also began taking food from other children's lunch boxes."
I closed my eyes.
"What else?"
"She told a teacher she wasn't allowed to eat when she made mistakes."
My hand tightened around the phone.
"Why wasn't I called?"
"We did call."
"No one called me."
"We spoke with someone using the Dubai contact number listed on the updated emergency form."
I turned toward Sofia.
"Which number?"
The school administrator read it.
It wasn't mine.
"Who answered?"
"A man."
"What did he say?"
"He identified himself as your personal assistant."
I had no personal assistant in Dubai.
"He said Isabella had behavioral problems and that the family therapist was already addressing them."
My pulse pounded.
"Was anything signed?"
"Yes."
"By whom?"
"You."
"No."
Another silence.
"I see."
"No, I don't think you do."
I forced myself to remain calm.
"Send every document to my attorney."
"I will."
"And Ms. Morales?"
"Yes?"
"Did Isabella say anything else?"
The woman's voice softened.
"She asked the counselor whether children could be sent to another country if their parents stopped loving them."
I closed my eyes.
The room disappeared for a moment.
Then Ms. Morales continued.
"There is one more thing."
"What?"
"Yesterday Isabella gave her teacher an envelope."
I opened my eyes.
"What was inside?"
"We don't know. She told the teacher not to open it unless she disappeared."
Sofia stared at me.
Every hair on my arms stood up.
"Where is the envelope now?"
"In the school's safe."
"What did Isabella write on the outside?"
May you like
Ms. Morales took a breath.
"She wrote, 'For Daddy, if Beatriz wins.'"
Related Stories
