Chapter 5 - BEATRIZ BEGGED ME TO COME HOME
Beatriz called me the next morning.
Not her lawyer.
Not a messenger.
Her.
I answered because I wanted to hear what fear sounded like when it finally reached her.
“Mariana.”
The voice was smaller.
Still controlled.
But cracked.
“What?”
“You released Julián’s private recording.”
“Yes.”
“How could you?”
I almost laughed.
“How could I?”
“He was my son.”
“He was my husband.”
“You’re humiliating him.”
“He recorded himself.”
“You’re humiliating this family.”
There.
Family.
Always family when she wanted obedience.
“You slapped me in front of forty businessmen.”
Silence.
“You made your granddaughters sleep beside industrial washing machines.”
“Mariana—”
“You stole their father’s insurance.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Then you’ll enjoy the audit.”
She inhaled sharply.
“Come home.”
“No.”
“Please.”
I went still.
Beatriz Alcázar had never said please to me sincerely.
“What did you say?”
“Come home.”
“Why?”
“The mansion is secure.”
“It caught fire last night.”
“I meant from Rafael.”
My pulse changed.
“You’re afraid of him.”
Silence.
“Beatriz.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Her voice lowered.
“Because he thinks Julián left more evidence.”
“He did.”
I heard her breathing.
“You have it?”
“Yes.”
“Give it to federal prosecutors.”
“Already done.”
She started crying.
Actual crying.
My anger faltered.
Not disappeared.
But shifted.
“Why are you crying?”
“Because you don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
“If Rafael thinks I kept anything, he’ll kill me.”
I sat down.
Adrián was across the room.
He watched.
I put the call on speaker.
Beatriz heard his voice.
“Then cooperate.”
Silence.
“Adrián.”
“Beatriz.”
“You destroyed me at my own dinner.”
“No.”
His voice was flat.
“Mariana saying no destroyed the version of you that depended on nobody challenging you.”
I looked at him.
He did not look back.
Beatriz whispered, “I need protection.”
I almost laughed.
The woman who made me work without pay while holding food over my daughters now needed protection.
“What do you have?”
Adrián asked.
“Information.”
“Then federal authorities.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I don’t trust them.”
“Convenient.”
“I trust you.”
Adrián’s face became almost amused.
“You should not.”
That was probably the most honest thing he had ever said.
Beatriz continued.
“Rafael has judges.”
“Names.”
“Police.”
“Names.”
“Customs.”
“Names.”
“He funded political campaigns.”
“Names.”
She became frustrated.
“Stop.”
“No.”
Adrián leaned toward the phone.
“If you want protection, you buy it with truth, not daughters.”
The room became silent.
Beatriz whispered, “I never wanted Julián dead.”
I stopped breathing.
“What?”
She started crying harder.
“I swear.”
“Did you know Rafael planned the crash?”
“No.”
“Did you know he threatened Julián?”
“Yes.”
My hands curled.
“You knew?”
“He threatened all of us.”
“And you let Julián go to Saltillo?”
“He wouldn’t listen.”
“Did you warn him?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell him Rafael was dangerous?”
“He knew.”
“What did you do after he died?”
Silence.
There.
My rage returned.
“You stole from us.”
“I was trying to settle Rafael’s debt.”
“With my husband’s insurance?”
“Yes.”
Finally.
Truth.
“You took our apartment?”
“Yes.”
“My jewelry?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
“Why?”
“Because I owed him twenty-eight million pesos.”
Adrián’s eyebrows rose.
The number was larger than expected.
“For what?”
“An investment.”
“What investment?”
“Industrial land outside Apodaca.”
“You lost it?”
“Rafael manipulated the project.”
Maybe.
Maybe not.
Beatriz continued.
“He lent me money to cover the foundation’s shortfall.”
“You created the shortfall.”
“Yes.”
Her voice became almost inaudible.
“I was trying to keep the foundation alive.”
I laughed.
Of course.
Another institution more important than people.
“You destroyed my daughters to save a charity for vulnerable women.”
“I know.”
The irony finally reached her.
Maybe.
I heard it in her crying.
“Did César forge my signatures?”
“Yes.”
“Did you order him?”
“Yes.”
The room went still.
“Why twelve?”
“To create a documented pattern.”
“A pattern of what?”
“Your theft.”
My stomach turned.
“You planned this before I left the mansion.”
Silence.
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Six months.”
Six months.
Beatriz had been preparing to accuse me while I cooked her meals.
Washed her linens.
Served her donors.
My mouth tasted bitter.
“Why?”
“Because César told me Julián’s drive might still exist.”
“And you thought I had it.”
“Yes.”
“So if I ever challenged you…”
“You would be discredited.”
I almost admired the cruelty.
Almost.
Then Adrián asked:
“Did you know Renata had the drive?”
“No.”
That sounded true.
“Who accessed it six months ago?”
“César.”
“Why not destroy it?”
“He said he did.”
So César lied to Beatriz too.
Insurance.
Always insurance.
I looked at the phone.
“What happened to César?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you believe Rafael took him?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because César called me before disappearing.”
“What did he say?”
Beatriz whispered:
“‘I made a copy.’”
The recording.
The highway.
Rafael would kill for it.
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
Adrián looked toward Gabriel.
“Federal safe extraction.”
Beatriz heard.
“No police.”
“You don’t get to choose.”
“I’ll testify.”
“Then you get government protection.”
“What about my house?”
“Forget the house.”
“My foundation?”
“Forget it.”
“My name?”
Adrián leaned back.
“You still don’t understand.”
I took the phone off speaker.
“Beatriz.”
“Yes?”
“The girls are safe.”
She began crying again.
“I want to see them.”
“No.”
“Mariana.”
“No.”
“I’m their grandmother.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re the woman who taught Renata to hide bread under her pillow.”
Silence.
“I didn’t know.”
“You created a house where she thought hunger was punishment.”
“I never—”
“Enough.”
I stood.
“You want protection? Tell the truth.”
She whispered, “Will you forgive me?”
I almost answered immediately.
No.
But the word felt too simple.
“I don’t know.”
She started crying again.
“That is more than you deserve today.”
Then I hung up.
Federal agents removed Beatriz from the Alcázar mansion that afternoon.
Not secretly.
Cameras captured everything.
The public image she had spent decades polishing cracked completely.
Her own attorney confirmed she was cooperating in a financial-crimes investigation.
The foundation suspended operations pending audit.
Donors demanded answers.
The family name she considered more important than her granddaughters became a headline attached to fraud.
At dinner, Renata asked:
“Is Grandma in jail?”
“No.”
“Will she be?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want her to be?”
I paused.
Children deserved honest uncertainty too.
“I want her to tell the truth.”
Renata looked down.
“I hate her.”
My chest tightened.
“You’re allowed to be angry.”
“Do you hate her?”
I thought.
“Sometimes.”
She looked surprised.
“Sometimes?”
“Yes.”
“What about other times?”
“Other times I remember she lost Daddy too.”
Renata frowned.
“That doesn’t mean she can be mean.”
“No.”
“It doesn’t make it okay.”
“No.”
“Good.”
She returned to her food.
Lucía held up a carrot.
“I hate this.”
We all laughed.
Even Adrián.
He had joined us at the table because Lucía apparently believed a feared businessman required explicit dinner invitations.
“Sit,” she had ordered.
He sat.
I noticed how naturally he listened to her.
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed.
“What?”
A pause.
“When?”
Another.
“Alive?”
My stomach tightened.
He ended the call.
“They found César.”
I stood.
“Where?”
“Outside Linares.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
My breath left.
“Condition?”
“Bad.”
“How bad?”
“Tortured.”
I closed my eyes.
“Can he talk?”
“Doctors don’t know.”
“Did they find the recording?”
“No.”
My heart sank.
Adrián continued.
“But they found something else.”
“What?”
“A storage-unit receipt.”
“Where?”
“Monterrey.”
“Name?”
“Not his.”
“Whose?”
Adrián looked at me.
“Renata Alcázar.”
My daughter.
César had rented a storage unit using my eight-year-old daughter’s name.
Not because she was involved.
Because nobody would think to search for a child.
May you like
César had hidden his insurance behind Renata.
And now we had to reach it before Rafael did.
