CHAPTER 5 — ISABELLA'S MISSING THREE MONTHS
CHAPTER 5 — ISABELLA'S MISSING THREE MONTHS
The door slammed downstairs.
For three seconds, nobody moved.
Then Isabella screamed.
I pulled her against my chest.
"Stay behind me."
Beatriz stood frozen in the doorway of the locked room.
For once, she didn't look like the woman who controlled everything.
She looked terrified.
I reached for my phone and turned on the flashlight.
The beam cut through the darkness.
"Where is the security backup?"
Beatriz didn't answer.
"Beatriz."
Her eyes moved toward the hallway.
"It's been disconnected."
"By whom?"
"I don't know."
That was the first thing she had said all night that I believed.
I grabbed Isabella's hand.
"Stay with me."
We left the room.
The corridor was empty.
Downstairs, another sound echoed through the house.
Glass breaking.
I moved quickly.
Beatriz followed.
When we reached the entrance hall, I saw the front door standing open.
Cold night air swept through the villa.
No guards.
No staff.
No Adrian.
Nothing.
I checked the security panel.
The entire system had been shut down manually.
Then my phone vibrated.
One message.
Unknown number.
STOP LOOKING FOR ELENA.
I stared at the screen.
Another message arrived.
YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED THREE YEARS AGO.
Then:
ASK YOUR DAUGHTER WHERE SHE WAS.
I looked at Isabella.
She was shaking.
I crouched in front of her.
"Sweetheart."
She looked at me.
"Did you ever leave this house for a long time?"
Her eyes immediately moved toward Beatriz.
Beatriz whispered:
"Don't answer him."
I stood.
"Why not?"
"Because she doesn't remember."
Isabella looked confused.
"I do remember."
Beatriz's face went white.
I turned toward my daughter.
"What do you remember?"
She hesitated.
Then whispered:
"A white house."
My heart tightened.
"What white house?"
"I don't know."
"Where was it?"
"Near the sea."
Beatriz stepped forward.
"Enough."
I looked at her.
"No."
She grabbed Isabella's arm.
My daughter flinched.
I immediately pulled her away.
"Don't touch her."
Beatriz stared at me.
"You're frightening her."
"No."
I looked at Isabella.
"Someone has been frightening her for years."
Beatriz's eyes filled with tears.
"You don't understand what I did."
"Then explain it."
She shook her head.
"Not tonight."
I looked toward the open door.
"Then tomorrow."
She whispered:
"Tomorrow may be too late."
At 1:00 a.m., Isabella was asleep in my room.
I sat beside her.
She had finally stopped shaking.
But I couldn't.
The messages remained on my phone.
Three years ago.
Why that date?
I opened the family records.
Isabella had been five.
I searched my travel calendar.
Three years earlier, I had been in London for almost four months.
I remembered that period.
My company had been negotiating the acquisition of a major property portfolio.
I had left Isabella with Beatriz.
I had called every night.
Or thought I had.
There were dozens of photographs from that period.
Family dinners.
Beach trips.
School events.
But something was wrong.
The dates didn't match.
I opened a photograph of Isabella at the beach.
The metadata said:
June 14.
But the camera file had been created three months later.
I opened another.
July.
Same problem.
Then another.
August.
Again.
The photographs had been edited.
Someone had reconstructed those three months.
I stared at the screen.
My daughter had disappeared from the records.
Not physically.
Digitally.
Someone had erased her.
At 2:40 a.m., I called Daniel.
"I need you to check something."
"What?"
"Three years ago."
"What happened?"
"Isabella's records."
"Which records?"
"All of them."
He understood immediately.
"I'll start."
"School."
"Yes."
"Medical."
"Yes."
"Travel."
"Yes."
"Anything involving Beatriz."
"Already thinking about it."
"And Daniel?"
"Yes?"
"Find out whether Isabella was ever registered somewhere else."
There was silence.
Then:
"Why?"
"She remembers a white house near the sea."
Daniel breathed slowly.
"Do you think she was taken?"
"I don't know."
"Don't assume."
"I'm not."
"Good."
"But I think something happened."
By morning, I had an answer.
Daniel arrived at eight.
He looked exhausted.
"Where's Isabella?"
"Sleeping."
"Good."
He put a folder on my desk.
"I found something."
"What?"
"Three months missing."
I stared at him.
"Exactly?"
"Exactly."
He opened the file.
"According to official records, Isabella remained in Marbella."
"But?"
"But there are no medical visits, no school attendance records, no photographs from your security system, no travel records, and almost no financial transactions involving her."
"Almost?"
"One."
He pushed a document toward me.
A private clinic.
Location:
Alicante.
Date:
Three years earlier.
I looked at the patient name.
Isabella Bennett.
Age:
Five.
I froze.
"Why was she there?"
"Medical treatment."
"What treatment?"
Daniel looked at me.
"Trauma therapy."
I stared at him.
"Trauma?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't I know?"
"Because the record was private."
"Who signed the authorization?"
He turned the page.
Beatriz.
My stomach twisted.
"Why would she send Isabella to trauma therapy?"
Daniel shook his head.
"I don't know."
"Who treated her?"
"Dr. Sofia Valera."
"Where is she?"
"Retired."
"Find her."
"I'm trying."
I took the file.
"What else?"
Daniel opened another document.
"This is the interesting part."
He pointed to the clinic address.
"It was next to a property owned by one of Adrian's companies."
I looked at him.
"Of course."
"The company bought the property two months before Isabella's treatment."
"Who used it?"
"We don't know."
I stood.
"Then find out."
Isabella woke at 9:15.
She walked downstairs wearing pajamas.
She stopped when she saw Daniel.
"Who is he?"
"My friend."
She looked at him suspiciously.
Daniel smiled.
"Your father tells me you're very brave."
Isabella looked at me.
"Sometimes."
Daniel glanced at me.
"Do you remember Alicante?"
Isabella's face changed.
Her fingers tightened around the railing.
Beatriz appeared behind her.
"That's enough."
Daniel turned.
"I wasn't asking you."
Beatriz stared at him.
"She's a child."
"Exactly."
I watched Isabella.
"Sweetheart?"
She whispered:
"I don't like that place."
"What place?"
"The white house."
Daniel looked at me.
I nodded.
"Tell us about it."
Isabella shook her head.
"I can't."
"You can."
"They told me not to."
"Who?"
She looked at Beatriz.
Beatriz's face hardened.
"Isabella."
My daughter flinched.
I stepped between them.
"No."
Beatriz stared at me.
"Don't."
She looked at me.
"What?"
"Threaten her."
"I'm not."
"You don't have to."
Silence.
Then Isabella whispered:
"There was a woman."
I crouched beside her.
"Elena?"
She shook her head.
"Another woman."
"What did she do?"
"She gave me medicine."
My blood ran cold.
"Why?"
"She said it would help me forget."
Daniel stood.
"Forget what?"
Isabella looked frightened.
"I don't remember."
"What happened before the medicine?"
She closed her eyes.
Then whispered:
"Mommy was crying."
I looked at Beatriz.
She was crying too.
"What was Mommy saying?"
Isabella's voice became tiny.
"She said Daddy couldn't know."
My heart stopped.
"Why?"
"Because Daddy would take me away."
Daniel and I exchanged a look.
I swallowed.
"Who said that?"
"Mommy."
"And did she take you somewhere?"
Isabella nodded.
"She put me in the car."
"Where?"
"The white house."
"Who was there?"
"Mommy."
"Anyone else?"
She shook her head.
Then paused.
"Adrian."
The room went silent.
I waited until Isabella returned upstairs.
Then I turned to Beatriz.
"You took her."
Beatriz wiped her face.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"To protect her."
"From what?"
"From your father."
"My father was dead."
"Exactly."
I stared at her.
She looked exhausted.
"Three years ago, I discovered what your father had done."
"What?"
"He had been involved with Elena."
My chest tightened.
"You mean the surrogacy?"
"No."
"Then what?"
Beatriz sat down.
"He didn't just arrange Isabella's birth."
"What did he do?"
"He bought her."
I couldn't breathe.
"Bought who?"
"Elena."
"Why?"
"Because Elena had something he wanted."
"What?"
"A child."
I shook my head.
"That doesn't make sense."
"It will."
She looked at me.
"Your father had another family."
I stared at her.
"Another family?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"He had been living a second life."
My mind raced.
My father had always been distant.
Strict.
Secretive.
I had blamed business.
Maybe it had been something else.
Beatriz continued.
"Elena was part of that life."
"Was she his mistress?"
"No."
"Then what?"
She swallowed.
"She was his daughter."
I froze.
"What?"
"Elena Marquez was your father's biological daughter."
The room went silent.
I laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because it was impossible.
"You're saying Elena was my half-sister?"
Beatriz nodded.
"Yes."
I sat down.
For years, I had believed my father had been a difficult man.
A businessman.
A distant parent.
Now I was learning that he had hidden an entire family from me.
But there was more.
I could see it in Beatriz's face.
"Why was Isabella involved?"
"Because your father left Elena something."
"What?"
"An inheritance."
I stared at her.
"How much?"
"Enough to destroy the balance of power."
"What does that mean?"
"Your father had created a private trust."
"Who controlled it?"
"Elena."
I felt cold.
"And Isabella?"
Beatriz whispered:
"Isabella was the beneficiary."
I looked toward the stairs.
My daughter.
The child everyone had been trying to control.
The child they had abused.
The child they had watched.
It wasn't because she was weak.
It was because she owned something.
Something powerful enough to make people afraid.
"How much?"
Beatriz looked down.
"Over eighty million euros."
I stood.
"Why didn't I know?"
"Because your father deliberately excluded you."
"Why?"
"Because he believed you were too honest."
I laughed bitterly.
"That's why they hated me."
"No."
Beatriz shook her head.
"That's why they were afraid of you."
That afternoon, Victor returned.
He had more documents.
"The money trail goes deeper."
I looked at him.
"How deep?"
"Into your father's old trust."
He placed a statement on the table.
The account had been dormant for years.
Then, three years ago, it became active.
A transfer:
€80,000,000.
Beneficiary:
Isabella Bennett.
Trust administrator:
Adrian Morales.
I stared.
"Adrian controlled my daughter's inheritance."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because your father appointed him before his death."
I looked at Beatriz.
She lowered her eyes.
"You knew."
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Since before Isabella was born."
I felt betrayed in a way I couldn't explain.
"You knew my father had created a trust for her."
"Yes."
"You knew Elena existed."
"Yes."
"You knew Adrian controlled the money."
"Yes."
"And you never told me."
Beatriz began to cry.
"I was trying to keep her alive."
I stepped toward her.
"Who was threatening her?"
She looked at me.
"The people who wanted the inheritance."
"Who?"
She shook her head.
"You aren't ready."
"I am."
"No."
I slammed my hand onto the table.
"Who?"
Beatriz whispered:
"Your father's old partners."
"Names."
"Some are dead."
"Names."
She looked toward the window.
Then finally spoke.
"Adrian isn't the leader."
I froze.
"Who is?"
She swallowed.
"The person controlling him is someone you know."
"Who?"
Beatriz looked directly at me.
"Your uncle."
My blood went cold.
"My uncle died twelve years ago."
Beatriz shook her head.
"No."
She whispered:
"He didn't."
That night, I went back to the locked room.
The files were still there.
I searched every document involving my father.
Then I found a photograph.
Three men stood beside a black car.
My father.
Adrian's father.
And a third man.
I stared at him.
I knew that face.
I had seen it in childhood photographs.
At family dinners.
At Christmas.
At my father's funeral.
My uncle, Gabriel Bennett.
Except Gabriel had supposedly died twelve years ago.
I turned the photograph over.
A date.
Three years earlier.
And beneath it:
PHASE FIVE — RETURN.
I stared at the words.
Then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
No one spoke.
"Who is this?"
Silence.
Then a man's voice.
Older.
Calm.
Familiar.
"You're asking the wrong questions."
My blood turned cold.
"Who are you?"
A pause.
Then:
"You've spent your entire life believing your father was the villain."
I couldn't speak.
The voice continued.
"He wasn't."
"Gabriel?"
A quiet laugh.
"You remember me."
The line went dead.
I stood in the locked room, staring at the photograph.
Three years.
Three missing months.
Eighty million euros.
A hidden inheritance.
A supposedly dead man.
And a daughter who had been abused because she unknowingly stood between powerful people and a fortune.
Then I heard footsteps behind me.
I turned.
Isabella stood in the doorway.
She was holding a small photograph.
"Who is this?"
I took it from her.
It was an old picture of Elena.
On the back was a handwritten sentence.
If they ever tell you I abandoned you, don't believe them.
I looked at Isabella.
"Where did you find this?"
"In Mommy's room."
"Did Beatriz give it to you?"
She shook her head.
"No."
"Then who?"
Isabella looked toward the hallway.
"The man who came last night."
My heart stopped.
"What man?"
She whispered:
"He said he was my grandfather."
I stared at her.
"My father is dead."
Isabella shook her head.
"No."
She pointed toward the window.
"He told me to tell Daddy..."
She hesitated.
"What?"
Her eyes filled with tears.
"He said the three months weren't missing."
I waited.
"He said you weren't supposed to remember them."
Outside, a black car slowly passed the villa.
May you like
Then disappeared into the darkness.
And for the first time, I realized the truth about the missing three months might be even more dangerous than the money behind them.
