Chapter 2: The Footage Beneath the House
I stared at the message until the words blurred.
The basement.
I had built that villa myself.
Every room.
Every hallway.
Every hidden corner.
The basement was supposed to be nothing more than storage — wine collections, old furniture, documents from previous properties.
Nothing important.
Nothing that could explain why a stranger knew something about my wife and my daughter.
I looked at Beatriz.
She was watching my phone.
Not casually.
Not curiously.
She was watching it like someone waiting to see whether a bomb had exploded.
That was when I knew.
Whatever was hidden downstairs, she already knew about it.
"Who sent that?"" she asked.
Her voice was sharper than before.
I locked my phone.
"Why?""
Her expression changed for half a second.
Fear.
Then it disappeared behind anger.
"Because you're standing here accusing me based on some anonymous message from a stranger.""
I looked at Isabella.
My daughter was still holding my hand.
Her tiny fingers were wrapped around mine so tightly that I could feel every tremble.
I lowered my voice.
"Who was on the phone with you?""
Beatriz looked away.
"Nobody important.""
"Nobody important?""
"Daniel, you just flew halfway across the world and walked into a situation you don't understand. Maybe instead of acting like a detective, you should ask your daughter why she decided to make a mess of the garden.""
The words hung in the air.
I couldn't believe what I had heard.
Not because she was blaming Isabella.
Because she said it so naturally.
Like blaming an eight-year-old child was normal.
I took one step forward.
"Beatriz.""
She stopped.
My voice was calm.
But she knew me well enough to hear the warning underneath.
"Do not say another word about my daughter like that.""
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then Isabella whispered.
"Daddy?""
I looked down.
"Yes, sweetheart?""
"Can we go downstairs?""
My stomach tightened.
"You want to go to the basement?""
She nodded slowly.
"But Mommy said I wasn't allowed.""
Beatriz immediately interrupted.
"Isabella, don't make things worse.""
My eyes snapped toward her.
"Why isn't she allowed?""
No answer.
That silence told me more than words could.
I grabbed my keys from my pocket.
"We're going downstairs.""
Beatriz stepped in front of me.
"No.""
The single word surprised even her.
She had said it too quickly.
Too desperately.
I stared at her.
"No?""
She recovered.
"I mean, there's nothing down there. It's dirty. It's dangerous.""
"Then why are you worried?""
"I'm not.""
"You're blocking the door.""
She looked at the ground.
For years, I had known Beatriz as a woman who controlled every room she entered.
She was charming at business events.
Elegant at charity dinners.
The kind of person strangers admired within minutes.
But standing there in my garden, with our daughter beside me, I saw something I had ignored for too long.
She wasn't powerful.
She was protecting something.
And she was scared I would find it.
I walked past her.
She grabbed my arm.
"Daniel.""
I looked down at her hand.
Slowly, she released me.
"You don't know what you're doing.""
I turned toward her.
"No. I don't.""
My voice hardened.
"But I'm about to find out.""
The basement door was hidden behind a wooden panel in the hallway near the kitchen.
I had designed it myself because Beatriz hated visible doors interrupting the home's clean appearance.
Funny.
The only place she seemed desperate to hide was the one place I had designed to disappear.
I unlocked it.
The smell hit me first.
Dust.
Old wood.
Something metallic.
Isabella stopped behind me.
I turned around.
"You don't have to come in.""
She shook her head.
"I want to.""
I looked at my daughter carefully.
She was scared.
But she was also determined.
That frightened me more.
An eight-year-old shouldn't know how to be brave because nobody else protected her.
I switched on the lights.
The basement flickered awake.
Shelves lined the walls.
Boxes sat stacked in corners.
Everything looked normal.
Too normal.
I walked deeper inside.
"Where would the cameras be?""
Isabella looked confused.
"What cameras?""
I froze.
The person who sent the message mentioned security footage.
But Isabella didn't know.
That meant whoever contacted me knew things happening inside this house that my daughter didn't even understand.
I checked the corners.
Then I saw it.
A small black security monitor hidden behind a stack of storage boxes.
My heart sank.
I hadn't installed that.
I walked closer.
The screen was off.
Next to it was a small digital recorder.
I picked it up.
There were dozens of saved files.
Dates.
Times.
Months of recordings.
My hands went cold.
Why would someone secretly record the basement?
I pressed play on the newest file.
The screen came alive.
At first, it showed an empty basement.
Then the timestamp appeared.
Three weeks earlier.
The door opened.
Beatriz walked in.
My wife.
But she wasn't alone.
A man followed her.
A man I didn't recognize.
He was wearing a dark jacket and carrying a folder.
They stood near the old wine shelves.
I turned the volume up.
Beatriz's voice filled the basement.
"Are you sure he won't find out?""
The man's response was quiet.
"Not unless someone tells him.""
My breathing stopped.
The video continued.
Beatriz looked nervous.
More nervous than I had ever seen her.
"You don't understand. Daniel notices everything.""
The man laughed.
"No, he notices business. Not family.""
I felt something twist inside my chest.
Because that sentence hurt.
Not because it was true.
Because a part of me feared it was.
The man opened the folder.
"Once the documents are signed, everything changes.""
Beatriz looked at the papers.
"And Isabella?""
My daughter's hand tightened around mine.
I looked down.
She was staring at the screen.
Her face had gone pale.
The man answered.
"She won't be a problem.""
The room became silent.
I stopped breathing.
I stopped thinking.
I only heard those four words.
She won't be a problem.
I turned toward Isabella.
"What does that mean?""
She didn't answer.
Tears started running down her face.
"I don't know.""
Her voice broke.
"I don't know what they wanted to do.""
I knelt beside her.
"Isabella, look at me.""
She couldn't.
"I tried to tell you.""
The words were barely audible.
"I tried so many times.""
My heart cracked.
"Why didn't you?""
She wiped her tears with her sleeve.
"Because Mommy always knew when I was going to say something.""
"How?""
She shook her head.
"I don't know.""
Then she whispered:
"She always knew.""
Behind us, the basement door slammed shut.
I turned around.
Beatriz was standing there.
Her face was different now.
No pretending.
No excuses.
Only anger.
"You should not have come down here.""
I stood slowly.
"Who is that man?""
She didn't answer.
"Who is he, Beatriz?""
Her eyes moved toward Isabella.
Then back to me.
"You have no idea what you're about to destroy.""
I stepped forward.
"My daughter was dragging garbage through the garden with bleeding hands.""
My voice shook.
"You think something can be more important than that?""
For the first time, Beatriz looked directly at Isabella.
And my daughter moved behind me.
That tiny movement said everything.
My wife noticed.
I noticed.
And Beatriz noticed.
The person Isabella feared most in the world was her own mother.
The silence was broken by another sound.
A notification.
The computer system connected to the security recorder had received a new file.
I looked at the screen.
A new video had appeared.
The timestamp was from yesterday.
The title was simple.
"Daniel's Final Goodbye.""
My blood turned cold.
Because I hadn't recorded it.
I hadn't uploaded it.
May you like
And according to the date...
Someone had been planning my disappearance before I even came home.
