Chapter 5: The Man Who Wrote About Sofía
Roberto called his lawyer at seven the next morning.
Guillermo had been his attorney for fourteen years.
He answered on the second ring, which meant he had already seen the news alerts — or expected a call was coming.
"I need to know everything about a man named Aldana," Roberto said.
"The one who covered the accident."
A pause.
"How much do you already know?"
"Enough to know I need more."
"Give me two hours," Guillermo said.
"Come to the office.
Not the phone."
Roberto arrived at nine.
Guillermo closed the door, set a folder on the desk, and didn't sit down.
"Aldana runs a private media operation," he said.
"Technically a blog network, but it functions more like a pressure service.
Companies, families, public figures — he finds something real or something close enough to real, and he offers to sit on it.
Sometimes he publishes anyway.
Sometimes he takes a fee not to.
It's never called what it is."
"And Vanessa has his number."
"Vanessa has more than his number." Guillermo opened the folder.
"Three months ago, Aldana published a piece about a tech executive's divorce.
Buried in the comments section — not the article, the comments — was a reference to a blind child of a prominent businessman.
No name.
Vague enough to be deniable.
But specific enough that anyone in your circle would have recognized it."
Roberto looked at the printout.
The comment was highlighted in yellow.
*Sources close to the family say the father's grief has made him dangerously easy to manipulate.
The child, they say, is being used as leverage.*
"She planted that," Roberto said.
"We can't prove she planted it.
But the timing matches her third month in your household.
And the language—" Guillermo tapped the page.
"The language matches the email you brought me this morning."
Roberto had handed over the printed email before sitting down.
Guillermo had read it twice without expression.
"The foundation," Roberto said.
"What can she actually do?"
"Alone?
Nothing.
You control the board.
But if she has been cultivating relationships with two of your board members — which this email suggests — and if Aldana publishes something damaging enough about you personally, about your fitness as a parent, about the accident—" Guillermo paused.
"A sympathetic narrative, combined with internal board pressure, could create enough instability to force a governance review."
"She would need months to execute that."
"She has been in your house for eleven months."
The number landed like a stone dropped into still water.
Roberto sat with it.
"She planned this from the beginning," he said.
"That is my read of the documents.
Yes."
Roberto stood up.
Walked to the window.
The city moved below — ordinary, indifferent, continuing.
"What do I do?"
"First — the recording María made.
I need to hear all of it.
If Vanessa's conduct toward Sofía is documented clearly, that is our strongest protection.
Any narrative Aldana builds about your fitness as a parent collapses the moment that recording becomes part of the public record."
"I won't put Sofía's voice into the public record."
"Then we use it privately.
As leverage.
The same way she intended to use Aldana." Guillermo closed the folder.
"Roberto.
She is going to move quickly now that she knows you've seen the email.
We need to move faster."
Roberto's phone buzzed on the desk between them.
A message from Vanessa.
The first since the night before.
*I think we both said things we didn't mean.
I'd like to talk.
For Sofía's sake.*
He turned the phone face-down without responding.
"What else do you need from me?" he asked.
"The names of the two board members mentioned in the email.
And anything else María may have seen or heard in that house over the past eleven months."
"I'll arrange it."
"One more thing." Guillermo picked up his pen.
"Aldana sent you a message last night."
Roberto looked up.
"How do you know that?"
"Because he sent one to me as well.
This morning.
He says he has a story he believes I would want to review before it publishes." Guillermo set the pen down.
"He gave us forty-eight hours."
The room felt smaller suddenly.
"He's already written it," Roberto said.
"He's already written it."
Roberto picked up his phone.
Turned it over.
Looked at Vanessa's message one more time.
*For Sofía's sake.*
He put the phone in his pocket.
May you like
"Then we have forty-eight hours," he said.
"Let's not waste them."
