Chapter 4: The Blue Folder
“Tell me you're lying.””
My voice sounded unfamiliar, even to me.
Isabella stood beneath the hospital's fluorescent lights, her arms folded across her chest. She had inherited Camila's dark eyes, but none of her sister's patience.
“That's your first reaction?”” she asked.
“Your wife is fighting for her life, your son is in intensive care, and all you care about is whether someone has discovered what you did five years ago?””
“Watch your mouth, Isabella.””
“Or what? You'll destroy my life, too?””
I stepped closer, lowering my voice.
“Whatever Camila told you, you don't understand the business side of it.””
She laughed without humor.
“Of course. There's always a business side when you hurt someone.””
A nurse passed between us, pushing a cart of medical supplies. I waited until she disappeared around the corner.
“What's in the folder?””
Isabella shook her head.
“I'm not telling you.””
“It's evidence belonging to my company.””
“No. It's evidence belonging to your wife.””
I clenched my jaw.
“Where is it?””
“Safe.””
“Where, Isabella?””
She looked directly into my eyes.
“Somewhere you'll never find it by threatening me.””
Then she turned and walked toward the elevators.
I followed her.
“Isabella, stop.””
She pressed the button without looking at me.
“Your wife called me three days ago,” she said.
“She wanted me to come stay with her after the baby was born. She said she was afraid of being alone with you.””
My chest tightened.
“She was emotional because of the pregnancy.””
“That's what you told yourself when she cried. That's what you told yourself when she asked where you were spending your nights. And that's what you told yourself when she begged you to come home tonight.””
The elevator doors opened.
Isabella stepped inside.
Before the doors closed, she added, “If Camila wakes up, pray she still loves you enough to tell you where the folder is.””
The doors shut.
I remained in the corridor, staring at my reflection in the polished metal.
For five years, I had convinced myself that Alejandro's downfall was necessary.
Our construction company had been struggling. Investors were losing confidence, banks were threatening to withdraw credit, and my father's legacy was slipping through my fingers.
Alejandro had managed the financial department. He had access to every account, every contract, every transfer.
When several million dollars disappeared from an investment account, I had found an opportunity.
The money had gone into an offshore company registered under Alejandro's name. At least, that was what the documents appeared to show.
I had presented those documents to the board.
Alejandro had denied everything.
He'd looked me in the eye and said, “Mateo, someone is setting me up. You know me. You know I would never steal from you.””
I had replied, “I know what the evidence says.””
Then I'd watched security escort him out of the building.
I remembered the expression on his face more clearly than I wanted to.
It hadn't been anger.
It had been disbelief.
He had genuinely expected me to stand beside him.
My phone vibrated.
A message from my chief financial officer, Ricardo Salinas.
We need to speak immediately. Do not discuss company matters over the phone.
I stared at the screen.
Then another message arrived.
Did Camila contact you about the Serrano case?
My blood ran cold.
I called him.
He answered on the first ring.
“Mateo, where are you?””
“San Gabriel Hospital.””
“Is Camila conscious?””
“No. Why?””
He exhaled sharply.
“Listen carefully. We may have a serious problem.””
“What kind of problem?””
“Someone accessed the old financial archive. The records from the Serrano investigation were copied two days ago.””
I glanced toward the elevators.
“Who accessed them?””
“Camila's credentials.””
For several seconds, I couldn't speak.
Ricardo continued.
“I thought she was only reviewing the company's charitable accounts. But she downloaded the original transfer authorizations, the bank correspondence, and the internal audit.””
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because I assumed you'd authorized it.””
I gripped the phone.
“Did she take anything else?””
“There's a missing document. The original approval sheet for the offshore transfer.””
My heart pounded.
“Who signed it?””
Ricardo went silent.
“Ricardo.””
“Mateo, the digital copy has your signature.””
“I know that.””
“No. You don't understand. The original has your signature, too. But the audit trail indicates the transfer was approved from your office computer while you were in a meeting across town.””
I leaned against the wall.
“Are you accusing me of something?””
“I'm telling you what the records show.””
I closed my eyes.
Five years ago, I had ordered Ricardo to prepare the documents that would convince the board Alejandro had stolen the money. Ricardo had asked questions then, too.
I had threatened to fire him.
He had never asked again.
“Listen to me,” I said.
“Find every copy of those files. Secure the archive and restrict access.””
“Mateo, if Camila has the originals, you can't simply make them disappear.””
“I didn't say make them disappear.””
“You didn't have to.””
The line went quiet.
Then Ricardo asked, “Did you do it?””
I ended the call.
For a few seconds, I stood motionless.
Then I walked toward the neonatal unit, hoping that looking at my son would somehow make the world feel normal again.
A nurse stood beside the observation window, writing notes on a clipboard.
“Can I see him?”” I asked.
She checked my visitor badge.
“You can observe him through the glass. We need to keep the room quiet.””
I stepped closer.
My son was still surrounded by equipment. His tiny chest rose beneath the blanket, and a monitor displayed the rhythm of his heartbeat.
I placed my hand against the glass.
“I'm here, little man.””
The nurse glanced at me.
“Have you chosen his name?””
I swallowed.
“Not yet.””
“His mother might have an opinion.””
I looked at the baby again.
Camila had wanted to name him Gabriel, after her grandfather. I had dismissed the idea because I wanted a name that sounded stronger, something that would look impressive on a business card one day.
Now I would have given anything to hear her argue with me about it.
“Can you tell me how he's doing?”” I asked.
“The neonatal team is monitoring his breathing and circulation. The next day will be important.””
“Will he be okay?””
The nurse softened slightly.
“We're hopeful. But he needs time.””
I nodded.
When she walked away, I took out my phone and opened Camila's messages again.
The last one remained on the screen.
I love you. I'm scared.
I read it until the words blurred.
I had spent years treating her love like an unlimited resource. I had assumed that no matter what I did, she would eventually forgive me because she always had before.
But perhaps forgiveness wasn't endless.
Perhaps it had simply been the one thing she had never thought to put a price on.
A doctor approached from the operating ward.
“Mr. Villarreal?””
I turned immediately.
“Is my wife awake?””
“She's responding to stimulation, but she's still very weak. We're moving her to intensive care for continued monitoring.””
“Can I speak to her?””
“Not yet. She needs rest.””
“Doctor, please. I need to know what happened.””
He studied me.
“Your wife suffered a severe obstetric emergency. She lost a dangerous amount of blood. The delay in receiving treatment increased the risk to both her and the baby.””
I lowered my eyes.
“Will she recover?””
“We're cautiously optimistic. But she needs careful monitoring.””
He started to leave, then stopped.
“One more thing. When she arrived, she was extremely distressed about reaching someone. We need to understand the timeline of her symptoms.””
I forced myself to meet his eyes.
“I received her calls.””
“And?””
I couldn't answer.
The doctor nodded slowly, as if my silence had told him enough.
“Her sister can provide a statement. So can Mr. Serrano.””
He walked away.
I remained beside the window, watching my son breathe.
Then my phone rang again.
Ricardo.
I answered without speaking.
“Mateo,” he said, “I've found something in the audit archive.””
“What?””
“The missing approval sheet wasn't deleted.””
My pulse quickened.
“Where is it?””
“Someone scanned it before the original disappeared.””
“Send it to me.””
“I already did.””
I opened the attachment.
The document showed the offshore transfer authorization. Beneath the amount, the date, and the receiving account was a signature.
Mine.
But that wasn't the part that made my fingers go numb.
At the bottom of the page, beneath the signature, was a handwritten note.
Proceed as discussed. Ensure Serrano takes responsibility.
And beside it were two initials.
R.S.
Ricardo Salinas.
My phone slipped slightly in my hand.
Before I could call him back, another message appeared.
Mateo, there's something else. I found the original email chain. You need to see who instructed me to prepare the transfer.
A final attachment loaded.
May you like
The sender's name appeared at the top.
And suddenly, the man I had blamed for everything was no longer the only person whose life had been destroyed by the lie.
