Chapter 8: What Beatriz Said Before She Left
Fuentes came to find me an hour later.
He knocked on the bedroom door and waited.
I stepped into the hallway and pulled the door behind me.
He looked older than he had that morning.
The kind of older that comes from an hour of difficult conversations.
"My client would like to speak with you," he said.
"Briefly.
In the sitting room.
I'll be present."
"So will Andrés."
"Agreed."
We went downstairs.
Beatriz was already in the sitting room.
She was sitting in the same armchair as before, but the composure was different now.
Still present, but thinner.
Like a coat worn too long in bad weather.
Andrés stood near the window.
I sat across from Beatriz.
She looked at me for a moment before speaking.
"I'm not going to pretend the last few hours haven't happened," she said.
"My lawyer has advised me to say very little.
But there are things I want to say to you directly, without lawyers framing them."
"Then say them."
She was quiet for a beat.
"I didn't plan for it to become what it became.
With Isabella." She pressed her lips together.
"I don't expect you to believe that.
But I want to say it."
"What did you plan for it to become?"
"I thought — I believed — that a child who had lost her mother needed firmness.
Routine.
Less indulgence." Her voice was careful.
Measured.
"I know how that sounds now."
"It sounds like what you told the man in Lisbon," I said.
The careful expression cracked.
Just for a moment.
Then she recovered it.
"You've spoken to Elena."
"I have."
Fuentes put a hand on the armchair.
"Beatriz—"
"It's fine." She looked at me steadily.
"What happened in Lisbon was a difficult situation that has been misrepresented by people with an interest in misrepresenting it."
"The boy's grandfather wrote a letter," I said.
"He's not someone with an interest."
She said nothing.
"The forged power of attorney," I said.
"What were you planning to use it for?"
Fuentes spoke before she could.
"My client won't be answering questions about that document."
"Then I'll find out another way." I leaned forward slightly.
"Beatriz.
I need you to understand something.
This is not a negotiation.
I am not looking for a settlement that makes this quiet.
I am not interested in protecting either of our reputations.
I am interested in one thing only."
She waited.
"Isabella," I said.
"That's it.
Everything else — the money, the properties, whatever you thought that document was going to give you — none of it matters to me the way she does.
So whatever you're calculating right now, whatever you think you still have to bargain with, understand that it has no value to me."
Beatriz looked at me for a long moment.
Then something in her face changed.
Not remorse.
Something more complicated than that.
Recognition, maybe.
That the man she had married — the man she had assessed and calculated and decided she could manage — had turned out to be someone she hadn't fully understood.
"I want to leave tonight," she said.
"I'd like to take my personal belongings and go."
"The officer will supervise what you take," Andrés said.
"Given the items recovered from the safe."
Beatriz nodded once.
She stood up.
She looked at me one final time.
"For what it's worth — and I know it isn't worth much — she's a remarkable child.
She never once broke.
Three months, and she never broke."
She walked past me toward the stairs.
I didn't watch her go.
I heard her footsteps on the stairs.
The sound of the master bedroom door.
Movement above.
The officer's voice, low and professional.
Andrés sat down across from me.
"Fuentes will push for a quiet resolution on the forgery," he said.
"Minimize exposure.
Offer restitution."
"Let him push."
"You want to pursue it formally."
"I want the notary identified.
I want to know how far this was planned before she ever walked through my door." I looked at the ceiling.
"And I want Elena Sousa's testimony on record.
Not just for me.
For the family in Lisbon."
Andrés nodded slowly.
"That's going to take time."
"I know." I stood up.
"I have time."
I went back upstairs.
Isabella had fallen asleep on the floor, her drawing still spread out in front of her.
I picked her up carefully and put her in the bed.
I pulled the blanket up to her chin.
She stirred slightly.
"Dad?"
"Still here."
She settled back into sleep.
May you like
I sat in the chair beside the bed and waited for the sound of the front door closing below.
When it came, it was quieter than I expected.
