Chapter 3 - THE SECRET OF THE NORTH WING
(Word count: ~1,500 words)
The night air outside the mansion had turned bitter cold, a dry mountain wind howling through the manicured gardens of San Pedro Garza García. Inside, the grand house felt unnaturally quiet, save for the rhythmic, steady tick of the tall grandfather clock standing in the corner of the marble foyer.
Valeria sat on the plush velvet sofa in the secondary living room, holding Mateo in her lap. The boy had finally stopped weeping, his small body exhausted by the sheer release of emotion. He clung to Valeria's hand, his thumb tucked into his mouth, his swollen eyes fixed on the door.
Alejandro returned ten minutes later. He was accompanied by two imposing men in dark suit jackets—his head of security, Marcos, a former federal police investigator with graying hair and sharp, analytical eyes, and a younger guard named Gabriel.
"Marcos," Alejandro said, his tone low and clipped as he gestured toward the north wing corridor. "We are going into Lucía's studio. We enter through the library service door."
Marcos nodded once, his expression professional and stern. He had worked for the Ríos family for a decade and knew better than to ask unnecessary questions when his employer's face looked like carved granite. "Gabriel, watch the perimeter. No one leaves or enters the grounds until I say so."
"Understood, boss," the younger guard replied, taking up a position near the front entrances.
Alejandro turned to Valeria. His eyes were haunted, full of a deep, agonized regret that no amount of wealth could ever soothe. "Valeria... stay here with Mateo. Please."
"I am not going anywhere, Mr. Ríos," Valeria answered quietly, wrapping a wool throw blanket tighter around Mateo’s shoulders. "We will be right here."
Alejandro gave a single, stiff nod of gratitude before turning toward the library. Valeria watched them disappear down the hallway.
Minutes felt like hours. The quiet in the house became almost suffocating. Mateo moved slightly in Valeria’s lap, his small hand tightening around hers.
"Valeria?" he whispered, his voice tiny and hoarse.
"I'm right here, sweetie," she replied, smoothing back a lock of dark hair from his forehead.
"Is Daddy mad at me?"
Valeria’s heart broke a little at the question. She looked into his innocent, terrified eyes and shook her head firmly. "No, Mateo. Your daddy is not mad at you. He is sad that he didn't listen to you sooner, but he is not mad at you at all. You were very brave tonight."
"Teresa said if I told, bad men would come," Mateo murmured, looking toward the dark hallway again.
"Teresa lied to you," Valeria said, keeping her voice completely steady and confident. "She lied to keep herself safe. But your daddy is strong, and he is going to make sure no one ever hurts you again."
Before Mateo could answer, a dull thud echoed from deep within the house, followed by the muffled sound of splintering wood. Valeria stiffened. Mateo flinched, burying his face back into her sweater.
"It's okay," Valeria reassured him, though her own heart was pounding against her ribs. "It's just your daddy and Marcos."
Five long minutes passed. Then came the sound of heavy, fast footsteps coming back down the hallway.
Alejandro emerged from the dark corridor first. His dark hair was disheveled, his expensive silk tie loosened, and his face was utterly devoid of color. He looked like a man who had just stepped into a nightmarish reality. Behind him walked Marcos, holding a thick, dark leather briefcase carefully in his gloved hands.
Alejandro stopped at the entrance of the living room. He looked at Valeria, then at his son. His hands were shaking violently.
"Mr. Ríos?" Valeria asked, her voice tense. "What did you find?"
Alejandro didn't answer immediately. He walked over to the armchair opposite the sofa and sank into it heavily, as if his legs could no longer support his weight. He stared at the leather briefcase Marcos set on the glass coffee table between them.
"The service door behind the library bookshelf... it wasn't just unlocked," Alejandro said, his voice a hollow whisper. "The latch had been deliberately taped over so it wouldn't click shut."
Valeria gasped softly. "Someone has been using it recently?"
"Not just recently," Marcos chimed in, his voice grim as he stepped forward. "The dust on the floor inside the passage showed fresh footprints. Someone has been entering the north wing regularly. Within the last forty-eight hours, at least."
Valeria felt a chill sweep through her blood. "In an empty wing of the house?"
"It wasn't empty," Alejandro said, his voice cracking. He covered his face with his hands for a second, fighting for control before looking back up. "Lucía’s studio... her safe behind the portrait was opened. It wasn't forced. Whoever opened it knew the combination."
"What was inside that safe, Mr. Ríos?" Valeria asked.
"Lucía’s personal journals," Alejandro said, his eyes darkening with absolute fury. "Her jewelry was still there—millions of dollars worth of diamonds and heirlooms, completely untouched. But her private journals, her personal medical records, and her sketchbooks... they were gone."
"Why would someone steal journals and leave diamonds?" Valeria frowned, trying to piece together the terrifying puzzle.
Marcos unzipped the leather briefcase he had brought back from the room. "They didn't steal all of them. They dropped one in their hurry, or perhaps left it behind intentionally. We found this on the desk in the studio."
Marcos pulled out a sleek, modern black electronic device—a high-end voice recorder—and set it beside a faded leather-bound notebook.
"What is that?" Valeria asked.
"Lucía suffered from a severe autoimmune condition for years," Alejandro explained, his voice strained as he stared at the journal. "Six months before she died, she started seeing a specialized private physician recommended by Teresa. She kept a detailed daily record of her symptoms and her medication regimen in those journals. She was meticulous about it."
"And the voice recorder?"
"It was plugged into an outlet behind Lucía's old desk," Marcos said, his tone razor-sharp. "It's a remote listening device. Connected to a localized cellular transmitter. Valeria... someone has been listening to this house. Someone has been monitoring what happens in the north wing and the surrounding rooms."
Valeria looked down at Mateo, who was listening in silence, his eyes wide as he watched his father.
"Teresa..." Valeria murmured. "She didn't just leave two years ago. She’s been coming back."
"Or she never truly left," Marcos corrected. "She had keycard access to the service quarters during her employment. If she kept a duplicate key to the exterior servant entrance, she could come and go through the estate’s secondary perimeter gates without ever triggering the main house alarm."
Alejandro stood up suddenly, his posture rigid with an explosive, terrifying rage. "I want every inch of this property searched," he ordered Marcos, his voice booming through the room. "Call the state prosecutors. Call the federal police. I want Teresa Salazar found before sunrise. If she touches a hair on my son's head—"
"Mr. Ríos, please," Valeria interrupted softly, pointing down at Mateo, who had flinched at his father's booming voice.
Alejandro stopped abruptly. He looked down at his trembling son, his rage melting instantly into profound shame. He walked slowly over to the sofa and dropped to his knees right in front of Mateo, just as Valeria had done earlier.
"Mateo," Alejandro said, his voice breaking as tears finally welled in his own eyes. "I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry I didn't believe you. I thought... I thought you were just hurting because of your mother. I didn't listen to you."
Mateo looked at his father for a long, quiet moment. The silence between them felt fragile, suspended in the air like spun glass.
Slowly, tentatively, Mateo reached out his small hand and touched his father's wet cheek.
"She said you would be sad," Mateo whispered softly. "I didn't want you to be sad, Daddy."
Alejandro let out a choked sob, leaning forward and wrapping his arms around his son, burying his face in the boy's small shoulder. Mateo didn't pull away this time. He wrapped his tiny arms around his father's neck, holding on tight.
Valeria quietly slid off the sofa, giving the father and son their long-overdue moment of reconciliation. She walked over to Marcos, who was examining the voice recorder on the table.
May you like
"Marcos," Valeria whispered, keeping her voice low so the family couldn't hear. "If Teresa was coming back for those journals... why now? Why after two years?"
Marcos looked at her, his dark eyes grim. "Because two days ago, Alejandro announced in the national news that he was finalizing the public offering of his medical manufacturing company. A deal worth over two billion dollars. If there is something in those missing journals that proves Lucía’s death wasn't natural... someone is getting ready to use it."
