PART 2 — THE MESSAGE THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING
I snatched the memory card from Rosario and locked every door. Then I held Mateo close and called Lucía Benítez, the attorney who had handled my father’s estate.
The card contained a dashcam recording from the night before. Mauricio said, “One capsule every night. By Monday, she won’t question anything.” Beatriz answered, “When she stops breathing, everyone will blame exhaustion.”
Another file showed a forged psychiatric report declaring me unstable, with my copied signature underneath.
Lucía warned me not to touch the bottle. Then the doorbell rang.
A trembling woman stood outside, holding up her phone.
“I’m Dr. Camila Ortega,” she whispered. “Your husband paid me to sign that report—and he just texted that tonight you’re supposed to die.”
