Chapter 4: The Night Ricardo Came to the House
“Ask Ricardo about the night.””
Javier read the words again, holding the envelope beneath the desk lamp. His mother's handwriting was unmistakable, but the message made no sense. What night? Why had Elena written it as though she expected her son to understand something he had forgotten?
Behind him, Don Ernesto gripped the doorframe.
“Your father looks terrified,” Lucía said quietly.
Don Ernesto turned toward her.
“Not another word.””
For once, she obeyed.
Javier carefully opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded twice. Unlike the letter from the red envelope, this one contained no affectionate greeting, no explanation, and no signature.
Only three lines.
December 14. The night the accounts disappeared.
Ricardo arrived at 11:40 p.m.
Ernesto must never learn what I gave him.
Javier looked up.
“Dad, do you remember December fourteenth?””
His father slowly entered the study.
“Which year?””
“The year Mom died.””
Don Ernesto's face tightened. He moved toward the desk and examined the note without touching it.
“December fourteenth was the night before she was admitted to the hospital for the final time.””
“Did Ricardo come here that night?””
“I don't remember.””
“Mom wrote down the exact time.””
“Javier, your mother was very ill. She was taking medication that affected her memory. Sometimes she wrote things down because she was afraid she'd forget them.””
“Are you saying she imagined this?””
“No.”” Don Ernesto looked at the note again.
“I'm saying I don't know what happened that night.””
Javier placed the note beside the red envelope.
“Then we're going to find out.””
He took out his phone and searched for Ricardo's contact.
His father caught his wrist.
“Wait.””
“Why?””
“Your mother's message specifically mentions me. If Ricardo came here and she gave him something without telling me, there must have been a reason.””
“Maybe she was protecting you.””
“Or perhaps she was protecting you from something I didn't understand.””
Javier studied his father's face. The older man looked exhausted, his injured jaw making every word painful. Yet there was something else in his expression—a reluctance that went beyond grief.
“Dad, what aren't you telling me?””
Don Ernesto lowered himself into Elena's old chair.
“When your mother became ill, she asked me to sign several documents relating to the company. She said they were routine transfers intended to protect the business if she died.””
“Did you sign them?””
“Some of them.””
“Did you read them?””
His father didn't answer immediately.
Javier felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach.
“You didn't.””
“I trusted her.””
“You trusted her, but she was investigating suspicious transfers?””
“I didn't know about the investigation then.””
“When did you find out?””
“After her funeral. I found a notebook hidden in her bedside table. It contained dates, account numbers, and the names of companies I had never heard of.””
“Why didn't you show me?””
“Because you were a child. And because Ricardo told me the records were incomplete and could expose us to legal trouble if we made accusations without proof.””
Javier stared at him.
“So our lawyer told you to keep quiet.””
“He advised caution.””
“That's a convenient way to describe it.””
Don Ernesto winced, but he didn't argue.
Javier walked to the window and looked out at the dark garden. The old oak tree near the fountain had been planted the year he was born. His mother used to sit beneath it with a book while he played on the lawn.
Everything about the house was connected to her.
And now every familiar object seemed to conceal another secret.
A sharp knock sounded at the study door.
They turned.
Lucía stood in the doorway, holding a small leather notebook.
“I found this in the drawer beside the fireplace.””
Javier frowned.
“Why were you searching the drawers?””
“I wasn't. I was looking for a place to sit down. The notebook was underneath a stack of magazines.””
She held it out.
The cover was worn, and a small brass clasp had been bent out of shape. Javier recognized the initials embossed in the leather.
E.S.
His mother's.
He opened it carefully.
The first pages contained grocery lists, medication schedules, and reminders about family birthdays. Then the handwriting changed. The entries became shorter and more urgent.
September 3: Another transfer. Ernesto's signature is on the authorization, but he insists he never saw it.
September 11: Ricardo says the discrepancy is a clerical error. He refuses to show me the original.
October 2: Arturo visited the office again. He asked about the properties in Savannah. Why is he so interested in the deeds?
Javier turned another page.
October 19: I found a company registered under a name I do not recognize. The mailing address belongs to a building owned by our own company.
The next entry had been underlined twice.
November 6: The money is not disappearing randomly. Someone is moving it according to a plan.
Javier's breathing grew shallow.
“Dad, look at this.””
Don Ernesto leaned over the notebook.
When he saw the entry about Arturo, he shut his eyes.
“I should have listened to her.””
“Did you ever investigate these companies?””
“Yes. After she died, I asked Ricardo to review the records. He told me the transactions were part of a restructuring project she had approved.””
“And you believed him?””
“I wanted to believe him.””
The distinction hung between them.
Javier continued reading.
The final page contained a list of names: Ricardo Valdés, Arturo Salcedo, and three unfamiliar individuals. Beside each name were dates and amounts.
At the bottom, Elena had written a sentence in capital letters.
*THE PERSON WHO SIGNS THE PAPERS IS NOT ALWAYS THE PERSON WHO GIVES THE ORDERS.*
Javier felt the skin on his arms tighten.
“Who gives the orders, then?””
Don Ernesto shook his head.
“I don't know.””
Lucía stepped closer.
“Arturo told me the same thing. He said the lawyer was only handling the paperwork.””
Javier turned toward her.
“You said Arturo told you the box would reveal who had been stealing.””
“It would.””
“Then why did he tell you not to contact Ricardo?””
“Because Ricardo might destroy the evidence.””
“Or because Ricardo could expose Arturo.””
Lucía looked away.
Before she could answer, Javier's phone vibrated.
An incoming call.
*RICARDO VALDÉS.*
All three of them stared at the screen.
Javier answered and switched on the speaker.
“Ricardo.””
“Javier, thank goodness.”” The lawyer's familiar voice sounded strained.
“I've been trying to reach your father.””
Don Ernesto's eyes narrowed.
“Why?””
“Because I received an unusual message concerning the estate. Someone has been asking questions about documents from sixteen years ago.””
Javier glanced at the notebook.
“What documents?””
There was a brief silence.
“Your mother's estate records.””
“What about them?””
“Javier, this isn't a conversation we should have over the telephone.””
“Then come here.””
Another pause.
“Is your father with you?””
“Yes.””
“Is Lucía there?””
Javier looked at his wife.
“Yes.””
Ricardo exhaled.
“Then listen carefully. Whatever you have found, do not sign anything, do not transfer any money, and do not allow Arturo into the house.””
“Why?””
“Because Arturo has been making inquiries about the original property deeds. He called my office this morning demanding copies of documents he has no legal authority to obtain.””
“Why didn't you tell us?””
“I was preparing to contact your father.””
“Before or after you called me?””
Ricardo fell silent.
Javier picked up Elena's note and read the date aloud.
“December fourteenth. The night the accounts disappeared. You arrived here at 11:40 p.m.
that night. What did my mother give you?””
The silence on the line became so complete that Javier could hear faint traffic in the background.
Finally, Ricardo said, “Where did you find that?””
“In her study.””
“Is the notebook there?””
Javier's stomach tightened.
“You know about the notebook?””
“Javier, I need you to understand something. Your mother was frightened that night. She believed someone was monitoring her communications. She asked me to keep certain records safe.””
“Which records?””
“I cannot explain everything without seeing what you have.””
“Did she give you the silver key?””
A sharp breath came through the speaker.
Then Ricardo said, very quietly, “You must not let Arturo find it.””
Don Ernesto rose abruptly.
“Ricardo, what did Elena give you?””
The lawyer's voice broke.
“Ernesto, I'm sorry.””
“Sorry for what?””
“For waiting so long.””
A sound came through the phone. A door opening, perhaps, followed by hurried footsteps.
“Ricardo?”” Javier said.
The lawyer lowered his voice.
“Listen to me. The box was never stolen from the house. It was moved before Elena died. She asked me to take it somewhere no one would think to search.””
“Where?””
“I'll tell you when I arrive.””
“Come now.””
“I can't. Someone has been following me since I left the office.””
Javier glanced toward the front windows.
“Who?””
“I don't know. A dark SUV has been behind me for the last twenty minutes. I thought I had lost it, but it's still there.””
“Call the police.””
“I will. But first, there's something you need to know about your mother's final night.””
Javier gripped the phone.
“What?””
Ricardo's voice dropped to a whisper.
“Your mother didn't die believing the family was being robbed.””
He paused.
“She died believing someone in the family had helped them.””
The call ended.
Javier stared at the screen.
Don Ernesto slowly lowered himself into the chair.
Lucía covered her mouth.
Outside, headlights swept across the study windows.
A vehicle had entered the driveway.
Javier hurried to the window and pulled the curtain aside.
A black SUV sat near the fountain, its engine running.
The driver's window was dark.
Then the vehicle reversed, turned sharply, and disappeared through the gates.
Javier reached for his phone.
Before he could call Ricardo back, a new message arrived from an unknown number.
It contained a photograph of Elena's notebook, open to the page listing the suspicious transactions.
Beneath it were nine words.
*STOP SEARCHING, OR YOUR FATHER WILL SUFFER WHAT SHE DID.*
Javier felt his fingers go numb.
Behind him, Don Ernesto whispered a name.
“Arturo.””
But Javier was looking at the photograph.
In the upper corner, reflected in the glass of the desk lamp, was the unmistakable outline of a man wearing a silver watch.
May you like
A watch Javier had seen that very afternoon.
On Ricardo Valdés.
