I had to make a superhuman effort not to sit up abruptly. My heart was pounding so hard I thought they could hear it. I remained motionless, breathing slowly, while they continued rummaging through my things. Javier pulled a blue folder from the back of the closet and let out a short laugh.
“Here it is,” he said.
Lucia approached immediately. “Is that the deed?”
“No, but it’s better,” he replied. “An old power of attorney, a copy of the life insurance policy, and the bank statements. With these, we can make a lot of progress.”
I didn’t know what hurt more: the fear or the humiliation. Javier hadn’t just been drugging me; he’d been plotting to take everything from me for some time. And Lucía, whom I’d helped financially more than once, was in deep trouble. I remembered little things that had previously seemed insignificant: calls that would drop as soon as I got on, family gatherings I was told not to attend because I “needed to rest,” strange activity on the joint account, and that comment Javier had made two weeks earlier: “Sometimes you don’t know what you’re doing when you’re so tired.” It wasn’t an observation. It was a rehearsal for his alibi.
I waited until they left the room. When I heard their footsteps coming down the stairs, I took the pill out of my mouth and wrapped it in a tissue. Then, slowly, my hands trembling, I picked up my phone and turned on the recorder. I got out of bed and went to the door. From the hallway, I could hear better.
“We need Elena’s signature on the sale, and as soon as possible,” Lucia said.
“I can get it,” Javier replied. “Tomorrow I’ll tell her they’re insurance documents. If she’s half asleep, she’ll sign wherever I tell her to.”
“What if she suspects something?”
There was a silence. Then her voice sounded lower, drier.
“Then we’ll call a friend of Arturo’s. The psychiatrist. A report, a crisis, temporary admission. No one doubts a woman when they already call her unstable.”
I put my hand to my mouth to stifle my noise. It was all there: the plan, the manipulation, the way to leave me homeless, penniless, and without any credibility. I kept recording for several more minutes, until I heard the sound of glasses clinking and a printer turning on in the office.
I went back to the bedroom and carefully closed the door. I had to act immediately, but without letting them know I already knew. I opened my phone and sent three quick messages: one to Marta, my best friend; another to Sergio, my father’s lawyer; and another to my cousin Raquel, a Civil Guard officer stationed in another city, but always on the lookout. I simply wrote: “I’m in danger. Javier is drugging me. I have a recording. If I don’t answer before 10 a.m. tomorrow, come to my house or call the police.”
Then I hid the recording in the cloud, forwarded the files to an email address Javier didn’t know about, and put the pill in a small bag inside the lining of my purse. The hardest part was still to come: surviving breakfast and pretending I was still the docile, confused wife he thought he controlled.
At seven in the morning, Javier entered the spotless kitchen, smiling, with freshly made coffee and a white folder in his hand.
“Honey,” she said, as if nothing had happened. “Then we’ll have breakfast and you can sign some papers for me, okay?”
Part 3
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