Chapter 3 - VICTOR TOLD ME HOW MY GRANDFATHER DIED
Victor didn't defend his father.
That frightened me more than denial would have.
He took his phone back, placed it beside him, and said:
"Mateo told you part of the truth."
"Which part?"
"My father killed Esteban Morales."
Rosa closed her eyes.
I felt the SUV moving beneath me, but for a few seconds the world seemed motionless.
"You knew."
"Yes."
"All this time?"
"Since I was nineteen."
My hands began shaking.
"And you thought maybe that was something you should mention after telling me my mother saved your life?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because your daughter was critically ill and my house was under attack."
"Convenient."
"No."
His voice hardened.
"Nothing about this is convenient."
I wanted to hate him.
Maybe I already did.
"Tell me."
Victor leaned back.
"My father, Alejandro Salcedo, and Gabriel Navarro built businesses together in the late eighties and early nineties."
"And my grandfather?"
"Esteban handled their books."
"So he worked for criminals."
"He worked for businessmen who became criminals."
"That's a pretty distinction."
"It matters."
"Why?"
"Because Esteban didn't know what they would become when he joined them."
Victor's jaw tightened.
"Neither did my mother."
That was the first time he'd mentioned her.
"What happened to her?"
"Later."
"No. You don't decide—"
"Mariana."
His voice dropped.
"If I tell this story out of order, you'll misunderstand something that has already killed people."
I hated that he was probably right.
"Fine."
"Esteban discovered that Gabriel Navarro was diverting money through shell companies."
"Stealing from your father?"
"At first, that was what everyone thought."
"And?"
"He was moving money for someone else."
"Who?"
"We never knew."
"Thirty years and you never knew?"
"Not with certainty."
"What did Esteban do?"
"He copied everything."
"The ledger."
"Yes."
"Then my mother found it?"
"No. Elena helped him create it."
I stared.
"She was eighteen."
"She was brilliant."
That hurt.
Because she was.
My mother could do arithmetic in her head faster than anyone I knew.
She spoke English and French.
She pretended not to.
"Esteban trusted his daughter more than anyone."
Victor continued.
"They encoded portions of the ledger. Elena translated communications. Esteban documented accounts. Together they created a record that could destroy both families."
"Then why didn't they go to the police?"
Victor looked almost sad.
"Which police?"
I understood.
Mexico City.
Three decades earlier.
Money.
Influence.
Fear.
"So they hid it."
"Yes."
"Where?"
"Unknown."
"The key?"
"Probably accesses the hiding place."
"And the locket?"
"Authentication."
"What does that mean?"
Victor gestured toward Lucia.
"May I see it?"
I hesitated.
Then removed the necklace myself.
I did not hand it over.
Victor pointed.
"The star isn't decorative."
I looked closer.
"Then what?"
"Orientation marker."
He pointed at the branches.
"Three families. Three sections."
"What sections?"
"I don't know."
"Victor."
"I have seen only one other locket like it."
"Whose?"
"Elena's."
My throat tightened.
"She had another?"
"Yes."
"Where is it?"
"I don't know."
He continued.
"The agreement created by Esteban involved three copies of certain records. One for Salcedo. One for Morales. One for Navarro."
"Why give criminals evidence?"
"Mutual destruction."
I understood.
Insurance.
Nobody could betray anyone without risking themselves.
"So the locket identifies whoever has access."
"Something like that."
"What happened to Esteban?"
Victor's face changed.
"Gabriel discovered he had copied records."
"And told your father."
"Yes."
"Then?"
"My father summoned Esteban to a warehouse."
"Summoned?"
"Don't sanitize this for me."
Victor nodded.
"He forced him there."
My stomach turned.
"Was my mother there?"
"No."
"Were you?"
Victor's silence answered.
"You watched?"
"I was nineteen."
"That's not an answer."
"Yes."
I stared at him.
"What happened?"
"My father demanded the records."
"Esteban refused."
"And your father killed him."
"Yes."
"How?"
Victor looked away.
"Does that matter?"
"It mattered to my mother."
He looked back.
"Yes."
"So tell me."
"My father shot him."
My eyes burned.
"Did you try to stop him?"
Silence.
"No."
I laughed bitterly.
"Of course."
"I was nineteen."
"You keep saying that like nineteen-year-olds don't know murder is wrong."
"I knew."
"Then why?"
"Because I was afraid of my father."
The answer was quiet.
Not heroic.
Not polished.
Maybe true.
"I did nothing."
Victor looked directly at me.
"And Elena never forgave me."
"Good."
"She shouldn't have."
That stole some of my anger.
I wanted him defensive.
Arrogant.
Instead, he accepted it.
"What happened afterward?"
"Elena disappeared."
"Because your father would kill her too."
"Yes."
"Did you help?"
Victor paused.
"Eventually."
"What does eventually mean?"
"Three days."
"Three days?"
"I spent three days trying to convince my father Elena didn't know where the records were."
"Did she?"
"I don't know."
"Then?"
"My father ordered men to find her."
My stomach tightened.
"I found her first."
"Where?"
"Bus terminal."
"What did you do?"
"Gave her money. Identification. A route south."
My anger faltered.
"You helped her escape?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I had failed her father."
The SUV turned.
Lucia was sleeping again.
Dr. Ortega watched the monitor clipped to her tiny finger.
I asked:
"Did your father know?"
"Not then."
"What happened to him?"
"He died four years later."
"Natural causes?"
Victor almost smiled.
"No."
"Navarro?"
"We believed so."
"And Elena?"
"I searched for her."
"Why?"
"To make sure she was alive."
"Or find the ledger?"
Victor's eyes sharpened.
"Both."
There it was.
At least he admitted it.
"So Mateo was right."
"Partly."
"She had reason to fear you."
"Yes."
"Did you ever threaten her?"
"No."
"Send men after her?"
"I sent people to find her."
"That is not reassuring."
"I know."
"Then seven years ago?"
"I received word that she had died."
"From whom?"
"A private investigator."
"Name?"
"Tomás Vega."
"Where is he?"
"Dead."
Of course.
"When?"
"Three years ago."
"How?"
"Car accident."
My skin went cold.
My mother's supposed death.
Car accident.
Investigator.
Car accident.
Too many accidents.
"Did you verify her death?"
"I found the death certificate."
"So did I."
"Hospital record."
"So did I."
"Burial."
"I was there."
Victor looked at me.
"But no body?"
"I saw the coffin."
"Did you see her?"
"No."
I had been told the injuries were too severe.
The funeral director recommended closed casket.
I had been twenty.
Destroyed.
Trusting.
"Who identified her?"
I whispered.
"My aunt."
"What aunt?"
"Teresa."
"Elena had no sister."
I looked at him.
"What?"
"Elena was an only child."
"No."
"Aunt Teresa raised me after Mom died."
"Where is she?"
"Puebla."
Victor pulled out his phone.
"Name."
"Don't."
"Mariana."
"I said don't."
"She may be in danger."
"Or you're about to send armed men to terrify a sixty-year-old woman."
"Then call her yourself."
I did.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
My stomach tightened.
I sent a message.
Tía, call me immediately.
Then another.
It's about Mom.
Three dots appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
Then my phone rang.
Teresa.
I answered.
"Tía?"
Silence.
Then:
"Where are you?"
My heart sank.
"Why?"
"Mariana, where are you?"
"With Victor Salcedo."
Teresa gasped.
"Get away from him."
Victor heard.
"Why?"
"Your mother warned me this could happen."
I stopped.
"What did you say?"
Silence.
"Tía."
"Mariana, listen carefully."
My hands shook.
"Your mother is alive."
Everything inside me broke.
Victor looked away.
I couldn't speak.
Teresa started crying.
"I'm sorry."
"You knew?"
"Yes."
"Seven years?"
"Mariana—"
"You let me bury her!"
"It was necessary."
"For who?"
"For you."
"Don't you dare."
Lucia stirred at my voice.
I lowered it immediately.
"You watched me grieve."
"I know."
"You watched me stand at that grave."
"I know."
"Why?"
"Because Elena believed if anyone knew she survived, they would use you to reach her."
"They did anyway."
Teresa sobbed.
"I know."
"Where is she?"
"I don't know."
Lie.
I knew Teresa's lies.
She became too careful.
"Where?"
"I can't."
"Then don't call me your niece again."
Silence.
"Mariana."
"Where is my mother?"
Teresa whispered:
"San Miguel de Allende."
Victor became alert.
"Where exactly?"
Teresa heard him.
"No!"
"Tía—"
"Do not take Victor!"
"Then tell me why."
"Because Elena isn't hiding from the Navarros anymore."
My skin prickled.
"Who is she hiding from?"
Teresa began crying harder.
"From herself."
I frowned.
"What does that mean?"
Before she could answer, another voice came through.
Male.
Close to Teresa.
"Tía?"
She gasped.
Then the call ended.
I immediately redialed.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Victor spoke into his radio.
"Get a team to Puebla."
"No!"
"Mariana, someone was with her."
"You don't know who."
"Exactly."
He gave instructions.
I wanted to argue.
Then my phone buzzed.
A photograph.
Teresa sitting in her kitchen.
Taken from outside her window.
Timestamp:
Two minutes ago.
Below it:
THE KEY FOR YOUR AUNT.
I stopped breathing.
Then another message.
BRING IT TO THE OLD MORALES HOUSE BEFORE MIDNIGHT.
Victor read over my shoulder.
His face hardened.
"What old Morales house?"
I whispered:
"I know where."
Victor looked at me.
"So do they."
May you like
And suddenly the hidden brass key was no longer only a mystery.
It was a ransom.
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