Chapter 4
The police came before sunset.
So did my lawyer, Rafael Costa.
Rafael had handled my company’s most difficult acquisitions.
He had also known me since university.
When he saw Isabella sitting with bandaged hands, his expression went still.
Not professional.
Personal.
“Who did this?” he asked.
I looked toward the terrace, where Beatriz was speaking rapidly into her phone.
“My wife.”
His jaw tightened.
“Then we do this correctly.”
Correctly.
That word mattered.
Because Beatriz was already creating her story.
By the time officers arrived, she was wearing a soft beige dress instead of the silk robe.
Her hair was pinned back.
Her eyes were red, though I had not seen her cry.
She met them in the foyer.
“My husband is exhausted from travel,” she said. “He misunderstood a disciplinary issue.”
Officer Molina looked past her to me.
I held Isabella’s hand.
Rafael stood beside us.
Dr. Elena had already filed the medical report.
Molina’s expression changed when he saw the bandages.
“May we speak to the child?”
Beatriz answered, “Of course, but I should be present.”
Rafael said, “No.”
Beatriz turned sharply.
He continued, “Given the allegation, you should not be present during the child’s statement.”
“She is not my enemy.”
“No,” Rafael said. “She is your alleged victim.”
Beatriz went pale.
The officers separated us.
Isabella spoke with a child protection specialist in the library.
I paced outside like a man waiting for surgery.
Rafael stood with me.
“You need to prepare yourself,” he said.
“For what?”
“For the likelihood that this is larger than what you saw.”
I hated him for saying it.
Then I hated myself because I knew he was right.
Police searched the garden.
They photographed the trash.
The mud.
The torn bag.
The terrace view.
They collected Beatriz’s phone.
She screamed when they took it.
That scream told me more than any confession.
At eight, Molina came to me.
His face was grim.
“Your daughter described repeated mistreatment.”
My throat tightened.
“Charges?”
“Investigation first. But Mrs. Ortega must leave the home tonight.”
Beatriz heard.
She spun toward me.
“You’re letting them throw me out?”
I said nothing.
Her voice rose.
“I gave up my life for you.”
Rafael murmured, “Do not answer.”
Beatriz looked at Isabella.
My daughter hid behind me.
That was answer enough.
As officers escorted Beatriz upstairs to collect essentials, she leaned close to me.
“You think you won because she cried?”
May you like
I looked at her.
“No. I think you lost because she stopped.”
