Chapter 5: What the Doctor Knew
The doctor's name was Dr.
Fuentes.
She had been a neonatal specialist for nineteen years, and she had learned long ago to read a room before she spoke in one.
She read this room in about four seconds.
"Mr.
Reyes," she said, "I'd like to speak privately."
"Anything you say to me you can say in front of him." Mateo's voice was smooth again, recovered.
He gestured toward Alejandro with the easy confidence of a man used to controlling spaces.
"He's family."
Alejandro said nothing.
He did not correct the word.
Dr.
Fuentes looked at her clipboard, then back up.
"Your son was delivered by emergency cesarean approximately forty minutes ago.
He is in the neonatal unit.
His lungs are underdeveloped due to the early delivery, and he will require close monitoring for the next several days.
But he is breathing on his own.
That is a very good sign."
Mateo nodded slowly.
"And Camila?"
"She sustained a significant impact to her lower back and left hip in the fall.
There was internal bl00d loss, which we were able to address in surgery.
She will need several weeks of recovery.
She will not be able to walk without assistance for at least a month." Dr.
Fuentes paused.
"She was conscious briefly before we put her under.
She said one thing."
The corridor was very quiet.
"She asked about the baby.
And then she said—" Dr.
Fuentes glanced at her notes, though Alejandro suspected she did not need them.
"She said, *tell Alejandro the envelope is in the blue drawer in my study.
He'll know what to do with it.*"
Mateo went very still.
"What envelope?" His voice was careful.
Measured.
The voice of a man who already knew the answer.
"She didn't say." Dr.
Fuentes looked at Alejandro.
"I'm only passing on what she told me."
"That's not—" Mateo turned toward Alejandro, and for the first time that night, something cracked open in his expression.
Not grief.
Not guilt.
Something closer to fear.
"Whatever she gave you, whatever she thinks she has — it doesn't mean anything.
She's been paranoid for months.
The pregnancy made her—"
"She's in surgery recovery," Alejandro said quietly.
"This is not the moment."
"I want that envelope."
"I don't have it yet."
"But you're going to go get it." Mateo's eyes narrowed.
"That's what you're going to do the second you leave this hospital.
You're going to go into my house, into my wife's study, and take something that belongs to me."
"If it belongs to you," Alejandro said, "you have nothing to worry about."
Mateo stepped closer.
His voice dropped to something that was not quite a whisper and not quite a threat, but lived in the space between.
"Stay out of my house.
Stay away from my wife.
And stay away from my son." He held Alejandro's gaze for a long moment.
"You've always wanted what I have.
Everyone knows that.
And now you're standing here in the middle of the night pretending to be the good man.
But I know you, Alejandro.
I know exactly what you are."
Alejandro looked at him steadily.
"You should go see your son.
He's in the neonatal unit.
Third floor." He picked up his jacket from the corridor bench.
"I'll be in touch."
He walked toward the elevator without looking back.
Behind him, he heard Mateo say something to Dr.
Fuentes — low and controlled, the tone of a man trying to charm his way back into authority.
The elevator doors opened.
Alejandro stepped in.
In his jacket pocket, his phone buzzed again.
Another message from his security team.
*We pulled the call logs from the gate system.
There were two calls made to the access line the night of the incident.
The first was at 11:47 p.m.
— locking the gate.
The second was at 3:14 a.m.
Checking that it was still locked.*
Alejandro stared at the message as the elevator descended.
3:14 a.m.
May you like
Camila had already been on the floor for over an hour by then.
Someone had called to make sure she was still trapped inside.
