Chapter 11 - The Man Beatriz Was Really Afraid OfHis name was Rafael Mendez.
Forty-three.
Property developer.
Married.
Two children.
And, according to Gabriel, Beatriz's lover.
Alejandro listened without reacting.
At least externally.
“How long?”
Gabriel looked uncomfortable.
“Two years.”
Two years.
Alejandro stared at the table.
There should have been devastation.
Instead, what he felt was almost relief.
The affair was simple.
Understandable.
Painful, yes.
But after days of discovering psychological manipulation, fraud and plans to remove Isabella, adultery felt almost ordinary.
“What was Rafael's role?”
“He wanted the villa.”
“Why?”
“He has buyers.”
“For a property that cannot legally be sold.”
“That's why Isabella needed to relocate.”
Alejandro nodded slowly.
“And my wife gets what?”
“Money.”
“How much?”
“Ten million personally.”
“And you?”
“A percentage.”
“The school?”
“Owned partly through one of my companies.”
There it was.
Everyone profited if Isabella disappeared.
Except Isabella.
Alejandro asked:
“Did Rafael know how Beatriz treated her?”
Gabriel said nothing.
“Did he?”
“Yes.”
“Did he care?”
“He said pressure would make the girl easier to move.”
Alejandro's hands curled into fists.
Marta noticed.
“Stay seated.”
He did.
“Did Rafael take the photographs?”
“I think so.”
“Why?”
“Insurance.”
“Against Beatriz?”
“Against everyone.”
Police located Rafael quickly.
Then lost him just as quickly.
He had left Spain that morning on a private flight to Morocco.
His wife claimed he was on business.
His attorney refused questions.
But Rafael had made one mistake.
He left behind a rented storage unit.
Inside were copies of nearly everything.
Beatriz's messages.
Gabriel's invoices.
Trust records.
Photographs.
Audio.
Rafael had documented the conspiracy from the beginning.
He was not only planning to profit.
He was preparing to blackmail his partners afterward.
One recording captured Beatriz and Rafael inside a hotel room.
Alejandro nearly refused to listen.
Then Isabella's name appeared in the transcript.
He pressed play.
Rafael:
“Once the school takes her, how long until we can sell?”
Beatriz:
“Helena said court review could take months.”
Rafael:
“Helena doesn't know you're asking.”
Beatriz laughed.
“No.”
Rafael:
“And Alejandro?”
“He'll sign eventually.”
“He adores that child.”
“He adores the version of her he sees.”
“What does that mean?”
“I just need her to become difficult enough.”
Alejandro stopped the recording.
Marta looked at him.
He pressed play again.
Rafael:
“You're pushing an eight-year-old.”
Beatriz:
“I'm disciplining her.”
“She's scared of you.”
“Good.”
Rafael laughed nervously.
“You're colder than I thought.”
Beatriz:
“She has everything. Do you understand that? She was born owning more than I will ever earn.”
“She's a kid.”
“She is Camila's kid.”
There it was.
Not Isabella.
Camila's child.
A symbol.
Beatriz continued.
“I sleep in Camila's house. I use Camila's dishes. I attend events where people tell me how beautiful Camila was. And one day Isabella gets everything.”
“And Alejandro?”
“He gets to be noble.”
“You sound jealous.”
“I am tired.”
“Of Isabella?”
A pause.
Then Beatriz said:
“I wish it could just be us.”
Alejandro stopped the recording again.
He didn't need the rest.
Marta did.
Evidence mattered.
When the recording finished, she looked at him.
“Rafael might cooperate if extradited.”
“He's not doing this because he grew a conscience.”
“No.”
“He sent the photographs.”
“Probably.”
“Why?”
“To pressure Beatriz.”
“Or me.”
Marta nodded.
Alejandro returned to the villa.
Isabella was drawing at the terrace table.
The dumpsters were gone.
Alejandro had ordered them moved.
Not because dumpsters were dangerous.
Because he couldn't look at them.
Isabella held up a picture.
Three people.
Alejandro.
Isabella.
Lucía.
No Beatriz.
He tried not to read too much into it.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Can I ask something bad?”
“Anything.”
“If Beatriz doesn't live here anymore…”
She hesitated.
“Where will her baby sleep?”
Alejandro frowned.
“There is no baby.”
Isabella looked confused.
“Yes, there is.”
His heart stopped.
“What?”
“She showed me the picture.”
“What picture?”
“The baby picture from the doctor.”
Alejandro sat beside her.
“When?”
“Last week.”
“What did she say?”
“That if I went away, the baby could have my room too.”
Alejandro felt cold.
Beatriz had told him she was not pregnant.
“Did you see her name?”
Isabella nodded.
“Beatriz Reyes.”
Alejandro called Marta.
Within hours, investigators confirmed Beatriz had visited a private obstetric clinic.
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She was fourteen weeks pregnant.
And Alejandro had been traveling during the estimated conception window.
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