Chapter 4 - The Room Beneath the Office
My father’s office had remained untouched for seven years.
After his death, Mercedes insisted the room should stay exactly as he left it. His law books remained on the shelves. His reading glasses rested beside the green desk lamp. Even the half-empty bottle of whiskey in the cabinet had never been removed.
I had believed my mother’s refusal to change the room came from grief.
Now I wondered what else she had been protecting.
Detective Rivas met me at the house that afternoon. Two officers stood near the front entrance while a forensic technician examined the security system.
Mercedes had been released pending further investigation.
Because Lucía and I owned the house, I had formally revoked my mother’s permission to enter. An officer accompanied her to collect essential belongings.
She left without looking at me.
But before stepping into Javier’s car, she smiled.
“You always regret your emotional decisions.”
I watched the car disappear through the gates.
Then I led Detective Rivas to my father’s office.
The room smelled of leather, paper and the cedar blocks Mercedes placed in the drawers. Nothing appeared disturbed.
“The message said beneath the office?” Rivas asked.
“Yes.”
We searched the floor, walls and cabinets.
After twenty minutes, the detective noticed faint scratches near the base of a built-in bookcase.
Together, we moved it away from the wall.
Behind it was a steel panel with a digital keypad.
I had lived in the house for most of my life and never knew it existed.
The technician tried several methods to bypass the lock.
None worked.
Then I remembered something from childhood.
My father used the same four numbers for everything: the month and year he met my mother.
I entered 0879.
The panel clicked open.
A narrow staircase descended into darkness.
The air below was cold and smelled faintly of dust and cleaning chemicals.
Detective Rivas drew his weapon.
“Stay behind me.”
At the bottom, he found a light switch.
Fluorescent bulbs flickered overhead.
The room was larger than I expected. Metal filing cabinets covered one wall. Three computer monitors sat on a long desk. A printer, scanner and professional document press occupied another table.
It was not a storage room.
It was an operation.
The monitors displayed camera feeds from different areas of the house.
The kitchen.
The hallway.
The back garden.
The bedroom Lucía and I shared.
My blood turned cold.
“She watched our bedroom.”
Rivas moved closer to the screens.
“Not only watched.”
He opened a folder containing hundreds of saved recordings.
Each file was labeled with a date and description.
MATEO ARGUES WITH LUCÍA.
LUCÍA CRIES AFTER PHONE CALL.
MATEO LEAVES FOR AIRPORT.
Some clips went back more than two years.
Mercedes had not simply invaded our privacy.
She had studied us.
A forensic officer began photographing the room.
I opened the nearest filing cabinet.
Inside were copies of my personal documents, employment contracts and tax returns. There were medical records belonging to Lucía, including prenatal reports she had never shown my mother.
Another drawer contained photographs.
Lucía entering a café.
Lucía speaking to a man outside a medical clinic.
Lucía meeting her sister at a hotel.
Each photograph had notes written on the back.
Possibly hiding money.
Possible affair.
Emotional instability.
Mercedes had been building a story in which Lucía was dangerous, dishonest and unfaithful.
The man outside the clinic was Lucía’s obstetrician.
The hotel meeting had been a birthday lunch with her sister.
Ordinary moments had been turned into evidence.
Detective Rivas opened a second cabinet.
“Mateo, look at this.”
He held up a stack of notarized papers.
The documents transferred several accounts from my name into a family investment trust managed by Mercedes.
My signature appeared on every page.
“How many?” I asked.
“At least twenty.”
I checked the dates.
Several had been signed while I was traveling overseas.
One claimed I had appeared personally before a notary in Miami on a day I was attending a conference in Madrid.
The forgery was no longer limited to one house.
Millions of dollars had been moved.
A technician called us toward the desk.
“We recovered part of last night’s deleted recording.”
The video played without sound at first.
Lucía entered the living room carrying a basin. Mercedes followed her.
My mother pointed toward the floor.
Lucía shook her head.
Mercedes grabbed her wrist.
Even without audio, the violence was clear.
Lucía tried to pull away. Mercedes slapped her. The basin fell, spilling water across the floor.
Then Mercedes kicked Lucía behind the knee.
My wife collapsed.
The technician restored the audio.
Mercedes’ voice filled the room.
“You will sign the new statement tonight.”
“I already told you no.”
“You signed the first one.”
“You forced me.”
“No one will believe that. Mateo believes whatever I tell him.”
Lucía held her stomach.
“I won’t say the baby isn’t his.”
I stared at the screen.
The room seemed to tilt.
Mercedes leaned closer to Lucía.
“You will tell him you had an affair. You will leave without making trouble, or I will make sure he loses everything.”
The recording continued.
Lucía whispered, “Why are you doing this?”
“Because my son was successful before you came into his life. And because that child will inherit what belongs to me.”
The video ended when Lucía noticed the camera.
She looked directly into the lens.
For a moment, neither woman moved.
Then Mercedes reached for her phone.
That was when the footage had been deleted.
Detective Rivas paused the recording.
“This supports assault, coercion, fraud and unlawful surveillance.”
I should have felt relief.
Instead, I felt sick.
Lucía had carried all of this alone because she believed I would defend my mother.
My phone rang.
It was the hospital.
“Mr. Álvarez,” a nurse said urgently. “Your wife has disappeared.”
I gripped the edge of the desk.
“What?”
“She was in her room ten minutes ago. A woman arrived claiming to be her sister. They left through the maternity elevator.”
“Her sister is in Bogotá.”
The nurse fell silent.
I turned toward the security screen showing the front gate.
A black sedan was pulling away from the hospital entrance on another live feed connected to Mercedes’ monitoring system.
May you like
In the back seat, I saw Lucía.
Beside her sat my mother.
