Chapter 8 — Isabella’s Missing Letters
Chapter 8 — Isabella’s Missing Letters
The first letter was hidden inside a broken music box.
I found it at 6:15 the next morning.
Not because I was searching for it.
Because Isabella asked me why her mother had taken it away.
We were sitting in a temporary apartment on the outskirts of Marbella, far from the villa and far from anyone who might be watching.
Elena had spent the night checking every window and door.
I had barely slept.
My mind kept returning to my father's letter.
The real inheritance is the evidence.
Then Isabella had asked the question.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Do you still have my letters?”
I looked at her.
“What letters?”
She frowned.
“The ones I wrote to you.”
“When?”
“While you were in Dubai.”
My stomach tightened.
“I didn't receive any letters.”
Her expression changed.
“I wrote lots.”
“How many?”
“Six.”
“Six?”
She nodded.
“I gave them to Mommy.”
I stared at her.
“What did she do with them?”
“She said she would send them.”
“Did she?”
“I don't know.”
I looked at Elena.
She understood immediately.
“Where are the letters now?” I asked Isabella.
She thought for a moment.
“Mommy put them in a box.”
“What box?”
“The music box.”
“What music box?”
“The pink one.”
I stood.
“Where is it?”
“At home.”
The villa.
The place I had spent days trying to avoid.
The place where someone had installed cameras.
The place where Beatriz still had access to everything.
But if those letters existed, they might contain something important.
I looked at Elena.
“We're going back.”
She shook her head.
“That's dangerous.”
“So is leaving evidence behind.”
We returned to the villa at eight.
Not through the front entrance.
Through the service gate.
The security system was still active.
That surprised me.
I had expected Beatriz to change the codes.
Instead, my original access card still worked.
That meant either she hadn't realized I knew the system—
or she wanted me to come back.
Neither possibility comforted me.
Isabella stayed in the car with Elena.
I entered alone.
The villa was silent.
Too silent.
The kitchen looked untouched.
The living room was immaculate.
No signs of the chaos that had filled the house during the previous weeks.
I walked upstairs.
Isabella's room was exactly as we had left it.
Except for one thing.
The stuffed rabbit was gone.
The cameras had been removed.
Someone had cleaned the room.
I opened the wardrobe.
Nothing.
The drawers.
Nothing.
Then I noticed a faint scratch on the floor.
Near the bed.
I moved the mattress.
A small pink music box was tucked beneath it.
I picked it up.
The lid was scratched.
The ballerina inside was broken.
I opened it.
Nothing.
My heart sank.
Then I noticed the bottom panel.
It had been opened before.
I removed it.
Inside were six folded pieces of paper.
Six letters.
All addressed to me.
My hands shook.
I opened the first.
Dear Daddy,
I miss you.
Mommy says you're very busy.
She says Daddy has important work.
I know.
But I still wish you were here.
Today I helped make dinner.
Mommy said I was too slow.
I tried harder.
I love you.
Love, Isabella.
I closed my eyes.
The second letter was shorter.
Daddy,
Mommy was angry today.
I don't know why.
She said I ask too many questions.
I don't think I do.
I just wanted to know when you're coming home.
I miss you.
Love, Isabella.
The third made my chest tighten.
Daddy,
Mommy told me not to tell you about the room.
I don't know what room she means.
I think it's the room Grandpa used to have.
She said if I tell you, something bad will happen.
Please come home.
Love, Isabella.
I stared at the page.
The room.
My father's secret room.
The fourth letter was stained.
Daddy,
I heard Mommy talking to Grandpa.
They said you cannot know about the money.
They said when you come home, they will make you think I'm sick.
I'm not sick.
I promise.
Please believe me.
Love, Isabella.
My hands began shaking.
The fifth letter was written in uneven handwriting.
Daddy,
Mommy says you don't love me anymore.
She says you chose work over me.
I don't believe her.
But she said if I tell you what I hear, she will send me away.
I am scared.
Please come home.
Love, Isabella.
The final letter had only three sentences.
I almost couldn't read them because the ink had run.
Daddy,
Mommy said Grandpa knows where the papers are.
And she said the woman with the scar is coming back.
I lowered the letter.
Elena stood in the doorway.
She had read my expression.
“What?”
I handed her the last letter.
She read it.
Her face changed.
“She knew.”
“Who?”
“Your daughter.”
“Knew what?”
“That I was coming.”
I stared at her.
“You told Beatriz.”
“No.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I never told Beatriz I was returning.”
“But Isabella knew.”
“She may have seen me.”
“When?”
“Before you came home.”
I felt something cold settle in my chest.
“How long have you been watching this house?”
Elena looked away.
“Answer me.”
“Six months.”
“Six months?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because your father told me to watch your family.”
“My father died six years ago.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you wait?”
“Because he gave me instructions.”
“What instructions?”
She looked at the letter.
“He told me not to interfere unless Isabella was in danger.”
I stared at her.
“She was.”
“Yes.”
“So why didn't you help?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Because I failed your father once.”
“That isn't an answer.”
“I was afraid I'd fail him again.”
I folded the letters carefully.
“These are evidence.”
“Yes.”
“Against Beatriz.”
“Yes.”
“And Eduardo.”
“Yes.”
“But not enough.”
“No.”
“Then what are we missing?”
Elena looked toward the hallway.
“The letters your daughter never finished.”
“What?”
“There were more.”
“How many?”
“Four.”
I stared at her.
“Where?”
“Beatriz destroyed them.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw her.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“What did they say?”
“I don't know.”
“Then how do you know they mattered?”
“Because Beatriz was crying when she burned them.”
I froze.
“Beatriz cried?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Elena hesitated.
“Because one of the letters mentioned your mother.”
I returned to the study.
My father's desk was still there.
I opened every drawer.
Nothing.
Then I noticed a false bottom.
Inside was an old cassette recorder.
No cassette.
Just a handwritten label.
For Daniel.
I looked at Elena.
“Did you know about this?”
“No.”
I pressed the eject button.
Nothing happened.
Then I found a small key taped beneath the desk.
The brass key.
The same key Isabella had mentioned.
I inserted it into the recorder.
The bottom opened.
Inside was a tiny memory card.
I placed it in my laptop.
One audio file.
I pressed play.
My father's voice filled the room.
“Daniel, if you're hearing this, the situation has become worse than I expected.”
I stopped breathing.
His voice sounded older than I remembered.
Tired.
Afraid.
“I need you to listen carefully.”
Static.
“Your mother did not betray me.”
I froze.
That contradicted everything Elena had told me.
My father continued.
“She was forced to disappear.”
I looked at Elena.
She stared at the floor.
“Eduardo believed he could control her.”
A pause.
“He was wrong.”
The recording continued.
“The money is not in Switzerland.”
My heart pounded.
“The Swiss account is a decoy.”
Elena looked up.
I stared at the screen.
“The real account is in Spain.”
I whispered:
“Where?”
My father's voice answered.
“Under the name of the person they will never suspect.”
The recording ended.
I replayed it.
Nothing.
The same words.
The same sentence.
The person they will never suspect.
Who?
I thought about everyone involved.
Beatriz.
Eduardo.
My brother.
Javier.
Elena.
My mother.
Isabella.
Then I realized something.
There was one person whose name had never appeared in any of the financial documents.
One person who had never been questioned.
One person who had access to everything.
Me.
I called Andrés.
“I need a search.”
“For what?”
“A Spanish bank account.”
“Whose name?”
“I don't know.”
“That's difficult.”
“I have an old trust agreement.”
“Send it.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't know who is listening.”
He became silent.
“Daniel, this is getting serious.”
“It already is.”
“What's happened?”
“My daughter wrote letters.”
“To you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She knew something.”
“What?”
“That people were planning to take her inheritance.”
Andrés sighed.
“How much?”
“About eighty-six million.”
Silence.
Then:
“Where did that come from?”
“My father.”
“And the trustee?”
“Me.”
“Then you're in serious danger.”
“I know.”
“No, Daniel.”
His voice became sharper.
“If someone can prove you're incapable of managing the trust, the court could appoint another trustee.”
“That's what they're trying to do.”
“Yes.”
“And if they succeed?”
“They could control the assets until Isabella is an adult.”
I looked at the six letters.
“And if they control the assets?”
“They could move them.”
I felt sick.
“That's the plan.”
“Yes.”
“Then we need to find the real account.”
“Agreed.”
I returned to Isabella.
She was sitting in the back garden.
The same garden where I had found her buried beneath garbage.
She was drawing.
“What are you drawing?”
“A door.”
“Where does it lead?”
“To Grandpa's room.”
I sat beside her.
“Do you remember it?”
She nodded.
“Have you ever been inside?”
“No.”
“Has Mommy?”
“Yes.”
“Grandpa?”
“Yes.”
“Did anyone else go there?”
She thought.
“The woman.”
“Elena?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“The other woman.”
I frowned.
“What other woman?”
“The woman Mommy talked to on the phone.”
“Do you know her name?”
“No.”
“What did she look like?”
“She had blonde hair.”
Elena had brown hair.
“Anything else?”
“She wore a red bracelet.”
“Did she come inside?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“At night.”
“What did she do?”
“She gave Mommy a folder.”
“What was inside?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you hear anything?”
Isabella nodded.
“They were talking about Daddy's mother.”
My heart stopped.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
She looked frightened.
“They said Grandma wasn't dead.”
I stared at her.
“Did you hear where she was?”
“No.”
“Did they say a name?”
She nodded slowly.
“Portugal.”
My blood ran cold.
Elena suddenly stood.
“That's impossible.”
I turned.
“Why?”
“Because I searched Portugal.”
“For my mother?”
“Yes.”
“What did you find?”
“Nothing.”
“Then search again.”
She shook her head.
“There was only one place connected to your father.”
“What place?”
“A private clinic.”
My stomach tightened.
“What kind of clinic?”
“Neurological.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother was treated there.”
“When?”
“Six years ago.”
The same year my father died.
The same year the Swiss account disappeared.
The same year my mother supposedly died.
I stood.
“Take me there.”
Elena looked at me.
“Daniel…”
“Take me there.”
Before we left, my phone rang.
Beatriz.
I answered.
“What do you want?”
Her voice was strangely calm.
“I know you found the letters.”
I looked at Isabella.
“How?”
“I know everything that happens in that house.”
“Then you know what they say.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you send them?”
“Because they were dangerous.”
“To whom?”
“To you.”
I laughed.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I expect you to listen.”
“I'm listening.”
“You think I wanted any of this?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Her voice cracked.
For the first time, I heard something besides arrogance.
Fear.
“Daniel, please.”
“Please what?”
“Don't go to Portugal.”
My blood went cold.
“How do you know I'm going?”
“Because I know what you're looking for.”
“What am I looking for?”
“The woman.”
“My mother?”
Silence.
“Beatriz?”
She started crying.
“She's alive.”
I closed my eyes.
“Where?”
“I can't tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because they'll kill her.”
“Who?”
She whispered:
“Your father's partner.”
“Who?”
“Daniel…”
“Who?”
The line went dead.
I immediately called back.
No answer.
Then a message appeared.
Don't trust anyone. Not even me.
I stared at it.
A second message followed.
Especially the woman with the scar.
I slowly looked toward Elena.
She had heard everything.
Her face was unreadable.
I asked:
“Did you know my mother is alive?”
She didn't answer.
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
My heart broke.
“You lied to me.”
“I was protecting her.”
“You lied.”
“I had no choice.”
“There is always a choice.”
She looked at Isabella.
“No.”
Her voice softened.
“Not when children are involved.”
That evening, we drove south.
The six letters were locked in a case beside me.
The blue box was beneath the seat.
Isabella slept in the back.
Elena drove.
Neither of us spoke.
Then, halfway to the coast, she said:
“There's something you need to know.”
“What?”
“The woman who called you isn't Beatriz's ally.”
“I know.”
“She isn't your enemy either.”
“Then who is she?”
“She is the person who started this.”
I looked at her.
“What does that mean?”
“She exposed the first account.”
“Why?”
“To force your father to reveal where the real inheritance was hidden.”
“Who was she working for?”
Elena's hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“Your mother.”
I stared at her.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“Why would my mother do that?”
“Because she knew your father had hidden something from her.”
“What?”
“The truth about your birth.”
I felt the world stop.
“What?”
Elena looked at me.
“Your father wasn't your biological father.”
I couldn't breathe.
Behind us, Isabella slept peacefully.
The road stretched into darkness.
And suddenly, the missing letters made sense.
The secret room.
The blue box.
The account.
My mother's disappearance.
Beatriz's fear.
And the woman on the phone.
This was no longer just a story about money.
It was about a family secret so powerful that people had spent decades killing, lying, and manipulating children to keep it buried.
I looked at the six letters in my lap.
Isabella had tried to tell me the truth.
Everyone else had tried to silence her.
But one thing was certain now.
Whatever my father had hidden—
whatever my mother had done—
whatever Beatriz was still afraid of—
the truth was waiting for us in Portugal.
May you like
And for the first time since I came home early, I wasn't chasing the people who had betrayed me.
They were running from me.
