PART 4 — “Mariana Was Investigating More Than Her Husband”
We left the house immediately.
Diego insisted that Veronica and I stay at a secure location.
But before we left, he examined the phone found near the window.
“There are deleted messages,” he said.
“Can you recover them?”
“Maybe.”
He worked for nearly an hour.
Then several messages appeared.
Most were between Mariana and a contact saved only as M.
The first message was from Mariana.
“I know what you're doing.”
M replied:
“You don't know anything.”
Mariana:
“I know about the money.”
M:
“Then you know why you should stay quiet.”
Another message followed.
“Cristóbal isn't the only one involved.”
My hands became cold.
I read the next one.
“If they discover I copied the files, they'll kill me.”
I looked at Diego.
“What files?”
“I don't know yet.”
Then another message appeared.
“Meet me tomorrow. Same place.”
The date was two days before Mariana died.
Diego leaned back.
“She was planning to meet someone.”
“Did she?”
“We don't know.”
I thought about the bruises.
The clinic.
The photograph.
The missing suitcase.
And the warning under her daughter's bed.
Suddenly, something clicked.
“The clinic.”
Diego looked at me.
“What?”
“Mariana wasn't investigating Cristóbal's affair.”
“You think she was investigating something else?”
“I think she discovered something much bigger.”
We drove to the clinic address from the photograph.
It was a small private medical center on the outskirts of the city.
A receptionist looked nervous when Diego showed his badge.
“Mariana Alvarez came here?”
The woman hesitated.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Why?”
“She requested a toxicology consultation.”
My heart sank.
“What did she suspect?”
The receptionist lowered her voice.
“She believed someone had been poisoning her.”
I stared at her.
“Poisoning?”
“She complained of dizziness, nausea, headaches, unexplained fatigue.”
I remembered Mariana calling me two months earlier.
She had said she was tired.
I had told her to rest.
The guilt hit me like a physical blow.
“She wasn't imagining it,” I whispered.
The receptionist shook her head.
“She brought blood samples.”
“Where are they?”
“Dr. Salazar has them.”
“Is he here?”
She looked toward the hallway.
“No.”
“Where is he?”
The woman swallowed.
“He died yesterday.”
Silence.
Diego's face hardened.
“Cause of death?”
“Heart attack.”
I closed my eyes.
Another convenient death.
Another person who might have known the truth.
Then the receptionist whispered:
“Mrs. Alvarez left something with me.”
“What?”
She reached beneath the desk.
A sealed envelope.
My name was written on it.
TERESA.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside was a handwritten letter.
Mom,
If you're reading this, I'm probably already dead.
I stopped.
Diego looked away respectfully.
I continued.
I need you to know that I wasn't imagining things.
Cristóbal has been stealing money from accounts connected to my father's old business.
At first I thought it was simple fraud.
Then I discovered payments to people I didn't recognize.
One of those payments was made to a private investigator.
The investigator was hired to follow you.
I looked up.
“Me?”
Diego nodded slowly.
“Keep reading.”
I don't know why they're watching you.
But I found one file with your name.
Mom, please don't trust anyone.
Not Cristóbal.
Not his business partners.
And especially not the man who calls himself Mateo.
My heart stopped.
The man in the photograph.
Mateo isn't his real name.
Then the letter ended.
No explanation.
No answer.
Only one final sentence.
“The proof is inside Dad's old safety-deposit box.”
I looked at Diego.
“My husband's?”
“Yes.”
“He died six years ago.”
“I know.”
“Then why would Mariana hide something there?”
Diego thought for a moment.
“Because whatever she found may have started long before Cristóbal entered her life.”
We went to the bank.
The safety-deposit box still existed.
But there was a problem.
The bank manager checked the records.
“The box was accessed three days ago.”
“By whom?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“Mr. Cristóbal Ortega.”
My heart sank.
“He had authorization?”
“Yes.”
Diego's jaw tightened.
“What did he remove?”
The manager shook his head.
“We don't know.”
But then he hesitated.
“There was something unusual.”
“What?”
“Your husband left instructions that if anyone accessed the box after his death, we were supposed to contact his daughter.”
“Mariana?”
“Yes.”
“And did you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
The manager looked terrified.
“Because someone called us and told us she was dead.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“Did they identify themselves?”
The manager nodded.
“They said they were her lawyer.”
I looked at Diego.
“Who was Mariana's lawyer?”
He immediately took out his phone.
“I'm finding out.”
A moment later, his expression changed.
“What?”
He turned the screen toward me.
The name was familiar.
I had seen it before.
Mateo Herrera.
My heart stopped.
“That's impossible.”
Diego stared at the name.
Then he whispered:
“Teresa…”
“What?”
“Mateo Herrera is my younger brother.”
I couldn't speak.
Diego looked as shocked as I was.
“My brother died twenty years ago.”
Then his phone rang.
He answered.
A voice spoke on the other end.
Diego's face became completely expressionless.
He hung up.
“What happened?”
He looked at me.
“The DNA report from Mariana's body just came back.”
I waited.
“The bruises aren't the only evidence.”
“What else?”
He lowered his voice.
“There are traces of a sedative in her blood.”
I felt sick.
“And one more thing.”
“What?”
“Someone else's DNA was found underneath her fingernails.”
“Can they identify him?”
Diego stared at the floor.
“They already did.”
My heart pounded.
“Who?”
He looked directly at me.
“It belongs to someone who officially died twenty years ago.”
