Chapter 5 - WHAT MARISOL KNEW
I caught Marisol before her head struck the marble floor.
“Get the doctor.”
Hector was already moving.
Within minutes, the estate had become a controlled medical scene.
Marisol had a deep cut across her upper arm.
No gunshot.
No life-threatening injury.
But enough blood to make the girls cry when they saw it.
I sent them upstairs.
This time, Sofia didn't protest.
She trusted me.
That mattered.
A private physician arrived twenty minutes later.
While he treated Marisol, I stood outside the room.
Chloe was across the hall.
She had been silent since Marisol arrived.
Finally, she said,
“You're really going to believe her?”
I turned.
“I don't know what I believe.”
“You should.”
“Then start telling the truth.”
She looked wounded.
“I have.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You've given me pieces.”
She didn't answer.
“Where did you meet my wife?”
“Los Angeles.”
“When?”
“About six months before she died.”
“Why?”
“She hired me.”
“For what?”
Chloe looked away.
“Private investigation.”
I stared at her.
“You were a private investigator?”
“Years ago.”
That was the first thing she had told me that surprised me.
“You told me you worked in finance.”
“I did.”
“After?”
“Yes.”
“What was she investigating?”
“Someone inside your company.”
“Who?”
“I never learned the name.”
“Why not?”
“Because she canceled the investigation.”
“Why?”
Chloe's voice dropped.
“Because she became afraid.”
I watched her.
“Afraid of whom?”
“She wouldn't say.”
“Then why did she hire you?”
“She trusted me.”
The irony was almost unbearable.
“She trusted you.”
“Yes.”
“And then you became my fiancée.”
Chloe looked at me.
“I didn't plan that.”
I laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
“You expect me to believe this happened by accident?”
“No.”
She looked exhausted.
“I expected to tell you eventually.”
“When?”
“After the wedding.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought if you knew everything before you married me, you'd never give me a chance.”
That answer was painfully human.
And still not enough.
Before I could respond, the doctor came out.
“She can talk.”
I entered.
Marisol was sitting against the pillows.
Her face was pale.
She looked at me.
“I knew you'd come back.”
“I should have come back sooner.”
She looked down.
“Yes.”
That single word hurt.
I sat.
“Tell me everything.”
Marisol shook her head.
“Not everything.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't know everything.”
“What do you know?”
She reached into her coat.
A small object fell onto the blanket.
A silver watch.
My wife's watch.
I recognized it immediately.
My wife had given it to me on our tenth anniversary.
I had lost it two weeks before she died.
Or so I thought.
I picked it up.
“Where did you get this?”
“Your wife gave it to me.”
“When?”
“The night before she died.”
I stared at the watch.
“Why?”
“She told me to keep it safe.”
“Why?”
“Because someone was searching for it.”
I looked at her.
“What was inside?”
Marisol swallowed.
“Not inside the watch.”
She pointed to the back.
“There.”
Hector examined it.
There was a tiny engraving I had never noticed.
A sequence of numbers.
I recognized them.
“That's an account number.”
Marisol nodded.
“Your wife found it in company records.”
“What account?”
“A trust.”
My heart stopped.
“What trust?”
“The Vance Family Trust.”
“That doesn't exist.”
“It did.”
“When?”
“Before you took control of the company.”
I shook my head.
“My father created a trust.”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
Marisol looked at me.
“Your children.”
The room became silent.
I had inherited the company after my father's death.
I had believed everything was transferred.
Apparently, something had not been.
Marisol continued.
“Your wife discovered money had been withdrawn from the trust.”
“By whom?”
She hesitated.
“Someone using authority connected to your family.”
“Who?”
“I never saw the signature.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because your wife showed me the ledger.”
“The ledger.”
Marisol nodded.
“The one that disappeared.”
I thought about the message.
Your wife died because she found the ledger.
“Where is it?”
Marisol looked at me.
“I don't have it.”
“Who does?”
“I don't know.”
“Then what can you tell me?”
She reached into her pocket.
A folded photograph.
She handed it to me.
It showed my father standing beside a younger man.
The same man from Valeria's photograph.
The one everyone had said was dead.
On the back were three words.
Trust the driver.
I looked at Marisol.
“What driver?”
She closed her eyes.
“Your wife's driver.”
“He died too.”
“No.”
My pulse stopped.
“He disappeared.”
“Why?”
“Because he was the last person to see your wife alive.”
Hector stepped forward.
“Where is he?”
Marisol shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Then she looked at Chloe.
“But she does.”
I turned.
Chloe stood in the doorway.
Her face had gone white.
“Chloe?”
She didn't answer.
Marisol whispered,
“Ask her where she was the night your wife died.”
Chloe closed her eyes.
“I was there.”
My entire body went still.
“What?”
“I was there.”
“You told me you didn't know her.”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
Chloe looked at me.
“Of the man who killed her.”
The words hit like a physical blow.
“Who?”
Chloe's lips trembled.
“Your father.”
Silence.
Hector's expression changed.
“That can't be.”
“My father was dead.”
“Not that night.”
I stared at Chloe.
“What are you saying?”
“He wasn't dead yet.”
Marisol shook her head.
“No.”
Chloe looked at her.
“You know I'm telling the truth.”
Marisol said quietly,
“I know you saw him.”
I looked between them.
“What happened?”
Neither answered.
Then Chloe reached into her purse.
She pulled out a photograph.
My father.
My wife.
And Chloe.
Standing together outside a restaurant.
The date on the photograph was three days before my wife died.
I stared at it.
“Why didn't you ever show me this?”
Chloe's eyes filled with tears.
“Because your father told me what would happen if I did.”
“What?”
“He said he would destroy your family.”
I stepped closer.
“What exactly did he say?”
Chloe looked at me.
Then whispered,
“He said your wife wasn't the first person he had silenced.”
Before I could ask another question, every light in the estate went out.
The room went black.
Hector drew his weapon.
Then Sofia screamed upstairs.
May you like
And through the darkness, we heard a single sound.
A child's bedroom door closing.
