CHAPTER 9 — A FATHER’S WORST DISCOVERY
The gunshot echoed through the underground passage.
Ricardo dropped behind the steel table.
Valeria screamed.
For three seconds, nobody moved.
Then the emergency lights flickered back on.
Gabriel was gone.
The man behind Valeria was gone too.
Only Valeria remained.
She stood frozen at the end of the corridor, one hand pressed against her mouth.
Ricardo rose slowly.
“Where is my uncle?”
Valeria shook her head.
“I don't know.”
“Where is Diego?”
“I don't know.”
Ricardo stared at her.
“You always know.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Not anymore.”
Ricardo stepped toward her.
“Who fired the shot?”
Valeria didn't answer.
“Who was behind you?”
“I don't know.”
“Stop lying.”
“I’m not.”
“You've lied to me for months.”
“I know.”
“You drugged my son.”
“I know.”
“You helped Esteban.”
“I know.”
“You knew Isabela was alive.”
Valeria closed her eyes.
“I know.”
Ricardo's voice dropped.
“Then tell me one thing you haven't lied about.”
Valeria looked at him.
“Your father.”
Ricardo froze.
“What about him?”
“He didn't order your kidnapping.”
“Then why did you say he did?”
“Because I thought you would believe it.”
“Why?”
“Because you spent your entire life believing your father was capable of anything.”
Ricardo said nothing.
Valeria walked closer.
“I needed you angry.”
“For what?”
“So you would stop looking at the wrong people.”
Ricardo's expression hardened.
“Who are the right people?”
Valeria whispered:
“The ones who are still alive.”
A sound came from above.
A door slammed.
Ricardo grabbed Valeria's wrist.
“Where is Diego?”
“I don't know.”
“Then you're coming with me.”
They ran upstairs.
The old estate was empty.
No guards.
No Mateo.
No Gabriel.
No Diego.
Ricardo reached the central hall.
His phone vibrated.
One message.
LOOK AT THE CLOCK.
He looked up.
The antique clock on the wall showed 3:17.
He remembered the photograph.
The hospital room.
The same time.
3:17.
Ricardo walked toward it.
There was something behind the clock.
He pulled it from the wall.
A narrow compartment appeared.
Inside was a USB drive.
And another photograph.
This time—
it showed Ricardo.
As a child.
Standing beside his father.
And beside them stood a woman.
Isabela.
Ricardo stared at the image.
He was seven years old.
The same age Diego was now.
On the back was a sentence.
YOUR FATHER DIDN'T HIDE HER FROM YOU.
Ricardo turned it over.
Another line.
HE HID YOU FROM HER.
His hands went cold.
Valeria whispered:
“She found you once.”
Ricardo looked at her.
“When?”
“When you were eight.”
“What happened?”
“Your father took you away.”
“Why?”
Valeria swallowed.
“Because Isabela told him she knew what your grandfather had done.”
“What had he done?”
Valeria's voice broke.
“He had another child.”
Ricardo frowned.
“You already told me.”
“Not that child.”
Silence.
Valeria looked at the photograph.
“Isabela wasn't the only one.”
Ricardo felt the floor disappear beneath him.
“How many?”
“Three.”
He stared at her.
“Three children?”
“Yes.”
“And what happened to them?”
Valeria shook her head.
“Two disappeared.”
“And the third?”
She looked directly at Ricardo.
“You.”
Ricardo couldn't breathe.
“That’s impossible.”
“Your father raised you believing you were his son.”
“I am his son.”
“Yes.”
“But?”
Valeria stepped closer.
“You were also the child your grandfather had ordered hidden.”
Ricardo stared.
“What does that mean?”
Valeria's voice became almost inaudible.
“Your grandfather wasn't afraid of Gabriel.”
Ricardo's eyes narrowed.
“Then who?”
“Isabela.”
“Why?”
“Because she discovered the financial records.”
Ricardo looked at the USB.
“What records?”
“The names of the people who financed your grandfather.”
Ricardo picked up the drive.
“Politicians?”
“Judges.”
“Police?”
“Military officials.”
Ricardo stared at her.
“And Esteban?”
“He inherited the network.”
“Mateo?”
“Helped build it.”
“And Gabriel?”
“Fought it.”
Ricardo stopped.
“Then why did Gabriel kidnap Diego?”
“He didn't.”
Ricardo turned toward her.
“You said he was protecting him.”
“He was.”
“Then who has my son?”
Valeria looked at the empty hallway.
“I think I know.”
Ricardo's heart began pounding.
“Who?”
“Your father's security chief.”
“Javier?”
Valeria nodded.
“But Javier is compromised.”
“Yes.”
“He was supposed to be dead.”
“He isn't.”
Ricardo immediately called Andrés.
No answer.
He called again.
Nothing.
Then a text arrived.
DON'T TRUST ANYONE WHO WORKED FOR YOUR FATHER.
Ricardo stared at it.
Valeria looked over his shoulder.
“He knows.”
“Who?”
“The man who took Diego.”
Ricardo's phone rang.
This time, a video came through.
He opened it.
Diego sat in a dark room.
His face was pale.
But he was conscious.
Someone stood behind him.
A man's hand rested on his shoulder.
Ricardo leaned toward the screen.
Then he saw the man's wrist.
A scar.
A silver watch.
Ricardo recognized it.
Javier.
The video ended.
Ricardo's blood ran cold.
“Where would he take him?”
Valeria answered:
“Somewhere your father owned.”
Ricardo looked at her.
“There are hundreds of properties.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“Only one.”
“Where?”
Valeria whispered:
“The house where you were born.”
Ricardo stared at her.
“I was born in Mexico City.”
“No.”
Valeria shook her head.
“You were born somewhere else.”
Ricardo's expression changed.
“Where?”
She looked toward the photograph.
“Chiapas.”
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Then she added:
“And your father spent thirty years making sure nobody remembered it.”
