Chapter 7: The Last Offer
Beatriz was in the sitting room when I came back inside.
She had her phone in her hand.
She looked up when she heard me, and I could tell from her face that she already knew about Marcos.
The way the composure had cracked slightly at the edges.
The way she set the phone face-down on the cushion beside her.
"They arrested him," she said.
"Yes."
"He'll talk."
"He already is."
She looked at the window.
Outside, a car had pulled up at the gate — Dr.
Vega's associate, arriving with the protective order paperwork.
Beatriz watched it without expression.
"I want to make you an offer," she said.
"You made one this morning."
"A different one." She turned to look at me.
"I'll give back the money.
All of it.
I'll sign whatever documents your lawyer needs.
I'll leave Spain.
You'll never hear from me again." She paused.
"In exchange, you don't pursue criminal charges."
"That's not my decision alone to make," I said.
"The financial crimes unit is already involved."
"You could ask them to stand down.
A man with your connections—"
"No."
She stood up.
"You're going to destroy my life over two million euros?
You have four hundred million in properties.
You won't even feel it."
"This isn't about the money."
"Then what is it about?"
I looked at her.
"It's about my daughter standing in a garden with blisters on her hands, too frightened to cry.
It's about a typed message on your phone that you held up to an eight-year-old's face to keep her quiet.
It's about three months of treating a child like a servant while you planned to take everything her father built." I kept my voice completely level.
"That's what it's about."
Beatriz's jaw tightened.
"You're being dramatic."
"I have ninety days of footage and a formal statement from Rosario."
"Rosario." She said the name with contempt.
"An employee."
"A witness."
She moved toward the door.
I didn't stop her.
At the threshold she turned back, and for a moment she looked less like the woman who had sat on the terrace with a cocktail and more like someone who had run out of moves and knew it.
"Isabella will ask about me," she said.
"One day she'll want to know why I left."
"I'll tell her the truth," I said.
"When she's old enough to hear it."
"And what is the truth?"
"That you made choices.
And that choices have consequences."
Something moved across her face.
It might have been the closest she ever came to regret.
Then she straightened, and it was gone.
"You'll have my lawyer's contact details by this evening," she said.
She walked out of the sitting room.
I heard her go upstairs.
I heard drawers opening and closing.
I heard the wheels of a suitcase on the tiled floor of the upper hallway.
Twenty minutes later, I heard the front door.
I didn't go to the window to watch her leave.
Dr.
Vega appeared in the sitting room doorway.
"The protective order is signed.
She'll be formally served at whatever address she provides to her lawyer." She looked at me.
"How are you?"
"Fine."
She studied me for a moment with the particular attention of someone who has watched many people say fine when they are not.
"The next few weeks will be procedural.
Statements, hearings, the financial case against Reyes.
It will be tedious and it will be necessary." She paused.
"Isabella will need someone to talk to.
A professional.
Someone who works with children."
"I know.
I'll arrange it."
"Good." She picked up her briefcase.
"You did the right things in the right order.
That matters in cases like this."
May you like
After she left, I stood in the quiet sitting room for a long time.
Then I went upstairs to find my daughter.
