Chapter 13
The traitor was Tomas.
My CFO.
The man who had worked beside me for nine years.
The man who knew Lucia.
The man who held Isabella as a toddler at company picnics.
He had sent Beatriz property valuations, travel schedules, trust summaries, and my personal calendar.
Not for love.
Not for loyalty.
For debt.
Raúl owned him through gambling losses and bad investments.
When confronted, Tomas cried.
“I didn’t know she was hurting Isabella.”
I stared at him across the boardroom table.
“You knew she was building a case around Isabella.”
He covered his face.
“I told myself it was marital conflict.”
“That is what cowards call harm when they don’t want to intervene.”
He had no answer.
Rafael advised cooperation in exchange for testimony.
I hated that.
But I agreed.
Truth first.
Punishment after.
Tomas gave us Raúl’s full plan.
Raúl wanted my company weakened.
Beatriz wanted access to Isabella’s trust.
Sergio wanted foundation fees.
Dr. León wanted private custody contracts.
Camila wanted money.
Everyone had a reason.
None had an excuse.
Then Tomas said something that made my blood stop.
“They discussed boarding school.”
“What boarding school?”
He swallowed.
“A private behavioral program in Switzerland. Beatriz said once Isabella was sent away, the trust would be easier to manage.”
I stood so quickly the chair fell.
Rafael grabbed my arm.
“Ivan.”
My daughter.
Sent away.
Labeled unstable.
Isolated.
For money.
I left the building without speaking.
At home, Isabella was in the kitchen with Grace, learning how to make Lucia’s almond cake.
Flour dusted her nose.
Her hands were healing.
Still bandaged, but better.
She looked up.
“Dad?”
I crossed the kitchen and hugged her carefully.
She laughed a little.
“You’re squishing me.”
“Sorry.”
But I did not let go yet.
Grace watched my face.
She knew.
Later, after Isabella slept, I told her.
Grace went white.
Then she said, “No more travel.”
“No more travel.”
“No more trusting titles.”
“No more.”
“And no more hiding the truth from Isabella because it hurts.”
I looked toward the stairs.
“She’s eight.”
“She’s eight and already knows adults lie. Give her the truth with love before someone gives it to her like a weapon.”
She was right.
The next morning, I told Isabella that Beatriz had planned to send her away.
My daughter listened.
Then asked, “Did you say no?”
I knelt.
“I said never.”
May you like
She nodded.
And for the first time since I came home, she smiled like she believed me.
