Chapter 8 - THE DOOR HANDLE
The handle moved once.
Stopped.
Then moved again.
Daniel stood.
I grabbed Camila.
“Don’t open it.”
He looked through the peephole.
His face tightened.
“It’s Valeria.”
I opened the door with the chain still latched.
Valeria stood in the hallway wearing yesterday’s clothes.
Her mascara was smeared.
“Please let me in.”
“Why are you here?”
“Because Mom knows you froze the account.”
“How?”
“She has Daniel’s passwords.”
I looked at him.
He went pale.
Valeria pushed a flash drive through the gap.
“I copied this from her laptop.”
“What is it?”
“Everything I could find before she caught me.”
“Caught you?”
Valeria looked over her shoulder.
“She knows I sent you the videos.”
I let her in.
Daniel locked the door.
Valeria opened the laptop and showed me folders.
Photos of my passport.
Tax returns.
Bank statements.
A copy of our apartment deed.
My daughter’s birth certificate.
I felt sick.
“Why does she have this?”
Valeria shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Then we found a folder labeled M.
Inside were draft emails written in my name.
One claimed I was too stressed to care for Camila.
Another said I wanted Daniel to take over our finances.
A third requested a leave of absence from work.
Daniel whispered, “She was building a case.”
“For what?”
Valeria clicked one last PDF.
A notarized statement.
According to it, I had voluntarily agreed that if my work travel became excessive, Daniel would be Camila’s primary residential parent.
The signature at the bottom looked like mine.
It wasn’t.
I stared at Daniel.
“Did you know about this?”
“No.”
Valeria’s phone buzzed.
She looked at the screen and froze.
“What?”
She handed it to me.
A text from Carmen.
COME HOME NOW OR I SEND THE POLICE TO MARIANA’S HOTEL.
Then another message appeared.
And this one wasn’t for Valeria.
It was a screenshot of a live location.
Our hotel.
May you like
Our floor.
Our room number.
