Valeria’s tone sharpened. “Abril was near the entrance earlier.”
“She went to buy bread.”
“At this hour?”
“For breakfast.”
There was a pause.
You could imagine Valeria’s eyes narrowing.
“Did she speak to Mr. Santiago?”
“No, señora.”
Valeria stepped closer.
“You know, Tomás, this family has always been generous to you.”
Your hand curled into a fist.
Tomás lowered his head.
“Yes, señora.”
“It would be sad if your daughter lost that scholarship my husband pays for.”
Abril’s eyes filled with rage.
Not fear this time.
Rage.
Tomás’s voice remained steady. “Very sad.”
Valeria said nothing for a moment.
Then she walked away.
Only when her steps disappeared did Abril breathe again.
“She knows,” the girl whispered.
“Yes,” you said. “But she doesn’t know how much we know.”
Your phone buzzed.
Daniela.
State prosecutor’s anti-kidnapping unit en route. 14 minutes. Federal contact notified. Keep him visible if possible. Do not let him leave.
Visible.
You understood immediately.
If the fake driver left before authorities arrived, the chain broke. You needed to keep the trap open without stepping into it.
You looked at Tomás.
“Can you get my old jacket from the garden storage?”
“The gray one?”
“Yes.”
Then you looked at Abril.
“Can you run fast?”
She nodded.
You crouched to her height.
“I need you to do something dangerous, but not alone. You will go through the back gate with your father’s phone and call the security guard at the north gate. Tell him a delivery truck is blocking the service road. Keep him distracted for five minutes. Do not go near the car. Do not let Valeria see you.”
Tomás shook his head. “No. She’s a child.”
“She already saved my life,” you said gently. “Now we keep her away from the front.”
Abril straightened.
“I can do it.”
Tomás looked like his heart was being torn in half.
But he handed her his phone.
“Straight to the north gate,” he said. “No heroics.”
Abril looked at you.
For a second, the fear returned.
Then she ran.
Tomás pulled the gray jacket from a storage bin. You put it on over your shirt, then grabbed a wide-brim gardening hat and lowered it over your face.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Giving the driver a reason to wait.”
You walked toward the side path, head low, moving like one of the groundskeepers. At the main entrance, the black sedán was still idling outside the gate. The fake driver stood beside the rear door, one hand near his jacket.
Not a chauffeur.
A hired man wearing a uniform.
Valeria stood near the fountain, phone pressed to her ear. Her lover had disappeared.
You could hear her voice.
“He’s somewhere in the house. Find him.”
Find him.
Not I’m worried.
Not call security.
Find him.
You stopped behind a column.
The fake driver looked impatient now. He checked his watch, then touched his ear as if listening through an earpiece.
So there were more people.
You scanned the driveway.
A white delivery van sat half a block away. Too still. A motorcycle was parked near the corner with a man pretending to smoke. One of your own security guards stood by the gate, but his posture was wrong.
Relaxed.
Too relaxed.
How many had she bought?
Your phone buzzed again.
Daniela.
Police 7 min. Need visual confirmation of fake driver + plate. Can you record safely?
You opened your camera and began recording from behind the column.
The plate was visible.
The driver’s face turned once toward the gate camera.
Good.
Then Valeria saw you.
Not your face.
Your shoes.
You had changed the jacket and hat, but not your shoes. Italian leather, polished black, impossible to mistake for a gardener’s boots.
Her eyes snapped up.
For one terrible second, your wife stared directly at you.
Then she smiled.
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