Chapter 5 - the report with two signatures
Diego carried the report to Elena’s suite shortly after midnight.
Marisol was sitting by the window, watching Valentina sleep.
She looked up when he entered.
“What happened?”
He placed the screen in front of her.
Marisol read the document.
Her face lost all color.
“I have never seen this.”
“Your signature is on it.”
“It isn’t mine.”
“It looks identical.”
“So did the resignation letter Paulina showed your mother.”
Diego sat across from her.
“According to this report, someone tested Valentina three years ago.”
“No one took a sample from her.”
“Are you certain?”
“I was with her every day.”
“Doctors, nurses, babysitters?”
“A clinic examined her after she developed a fever. That was the only time anyone could have taken anything.”
“Which clinic?”
“The San Aurelio Pediatric Center.”
Diego searched the records.
The center had closed two months after Valentina’s visit. Its owner had later become a consultant for de la Vega Medical Holdings.
He set the device down.
“Paulina’s family owned the laboratory chain.”
Marisol nodded slowly.
“Elena discovered that.”
“Why didn’t she go to the police?”
“She said she needed proof that would survive a judge, a boardroom, and your disbelief.”
“My disbelief?”
“She knew you trusted Paulina.”
“I trusted my mother more.”
“Not at the end.”
The accusation was gentle, but it landed painfully.
Diego remembered the months before Elena’s death. His mother had become suspicious of everyone. She cancelled meetings, changed passwords, and accused Sebastián of moving foundation funds.
Diego had believed grief over Nicolás had made her paranoid.
Paulina had encouraged that belief.
“She tried to warn me,” he said.
Marisol looked down.
“She told me you were being surrounded.”
“By whom?”
“She only named Sebastián.”
“And Paulina?”
“Elena said Paulina was dangerous because she never acted without making someone else appear responsible.”
Diego looked toward Valentina’s bed.
“Why did my mother help you instead of bringing you home?”
“She tried.”
Marisol opened the old suitcase and removed a small bundle of letters tied with blue ribbon.
“These were addressed to you.”
Diego took them.
Each envelope had been returned unopened.
Wrong address.
Recipient unknown.
Delivery refused.
The addresses were his apartment, office, and private club.
He had lived or worked at all three locations.
“I never saw these.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Elena checked the mail logs. Your assistant had been instructed to redirect anything from me.”
“My assistant was hired by Paulina’s father.”
“Yes.”
Diego opened the first letter.
The paper trembled in his hand.
Diego,
I do not know whether you will believe me, but the child is yours. I did not betray you. I left because I received photographs of you with Paulina and a message saying you had chosen the merger.
I am not asking for money. I am asking you to remember the last thing you promised me.
You said that no matter what our families wanted, you would find me.
I am waiting.
Marisol
He closed his eyes.
“I never sent photographs.”
“I learned that later.”
“The last thing I said to you was that I would meet you at the old train station.”
“I went.”
Diego looked up sharply.
“I waited for four hours.”
“So did I.”
They stared at each other.
Two people standing in the same city, each believing the other had abandoned them.
“What station?” he asked.
“The northern entrance.”
“I was at the south.”
Marisol gave a broken laugh.
“Of course.”
“Who changed the meeting point?”
“The message came from your number.”
Diego thought of the duplicate signature, the altered trust, the redirected letters.
“This was planned before you left.”
“Yes.”
“And my mother discovered it too late.”
Valentina stirred in her sleep.
“Golden button,” she murmured.
Marisol moved to comfort her.
Diego watched them, carrying the unbearable awareness that this could have been his life. He could have seen Valentina’s first steps, heard her first word, and known the shape of her hand before tonight.
Instead, someone had stolen three years.
His phone rang.
It was the first laboratory.
The technician’s voice was tense.
“Mr. Alvarado, we encountered a problem with the sample.”
“What problem?”
“The child’s DNA profile triggered a restricted database alert.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means someone previously filed a legal order preventing her genetic information from being released.”
“Who filed it?”
“We cannot disclose that over the phone.”
“Is the test complete?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
May you like
There was a pause.
“The results were automatically sealed by a court order issued in your name.”
