Chapter 2 - The Rules on the Wall.
I did not sleep.
By sunrise, I had watched the rear-gate footage nineteen times.
Javier had worked for my family for six years.
He managed maintenance contracts, staff schedules, deliveries, and access codes across the Marbella property.
If Beatriz wanted to hide something inside my own home, Javier was the one person who could help her do it cleanly.
At seven in the morning, I called my attorney, Elena Márquez.
She answered on the second ring.
"You're supposed to be in Dubai."
"I'm in Marbella."
There was a pause.
"Something happened."
"I need you here before nine, and I need discretion."
"Police?"
"Not yet."
"Gabriel, if Isabella is in immediate danger—"
"She's with me."
I looked toward the closed connecting door to the guest suite.
"I need to know what Beatriz has been doing, who has been helping her, and why eleven weeks of security footage disappeared."
Elena's voice sharpened.
"Don't confront anyone else until I arrive."
"I already confronted Beatriz."
"Of course you did."
"Not enough to warn her what I know."
"Good."
She paused.
"Keep it that way."
When Isabella woke, she did not ask for breakfast.
She asked what work she had to do.
The question hit me harder than anything from the previous afternoon.
"None."
She frowned as if I had spoken another language.
"But it's Saturday."
"I know."
"On Saturdays I clean the breakfast room before I eat."
I sat on the edge of the sofa beside her.
"Who made that rule?"
Her eyes dropped.
"Beatriz."
"What happens if you don't?"
She picked at the edge of the bandage around her palm.
"I lose points."
"What points?"
She looked genuinely surprised that I did not know.
"The house points."
I asked her to show me.
She led me back to her bedroom, walked past the nearly empty shelves, and opened the inside of her wardrobe door.
A sheet of white paper had been taped to the wood.
At the top, in neat printed letters, were the words ISABELLA'S RESPONSIBILITY SYSTEM.
Below the title was a list.
Make bed: one point.
Polish upstairs railings: two points.
Fold laundry: two points.
Carry kitchen waste: three points.
Clean terrace glass: four points.
No complaining: five points.
Beside the list was another column labeled PENALTIES.
Talking back: minus five.
Crying during chores: minus three.
Leaving food unfinished: minus four.
Calling Dad without permission: minus ten.
My vision narrowed on the final line.
"Calling me?"
Isabella nodded.
"I had to earn phone time."
"You spoke to me every Sunday."
"Only when she said I could."
I remembered those calls with painful clarity.
Isabella had always sounded quiet.
Beatriz had explained that she was tired from swimming lessons or distracted by schoolwork.
I had accepted it because I was exhausted, thousands of kilometers away, and foolishly certain that home was the one place I did not need to question.
"What happened if you lost too many points?"
Isabella hesitated.
"Things went away."
She gestured toward her bare shelves.
"First my tablet."
"Then?"
"My books."
"All of them?"
"Not school books."
"What else?"
"My pictures of Mom."
I felt as if someone had struck me in the chest.
Isabella's mother, Sofia, had died when Isabella was four.
The photographs in this room were among the few objects my daughter had chosen herself from Sofia's belongings.
"Where are they?"
"I don't know."
"Did Beatriz tell you?"
Isabella shook her head.
"She said people who can't behave don't deserve special things."
I stared at the responsibility sheet until the letters blurred.
"Did anyone else see this?"
"Carmen did."
Carmen Ruiz had been Isabella's nanny and our senior housekeeper since before Sofia died.
I had noticed during my calls that Carmen seemed to be absent more often.
Beatriz had told me Carmen was visiting family in Valencia.
"Where is Carmen now?"
Isabella's expression changed.
"She got sent away."
"Sent away where?"
"I don't know."
"When?"
"After she yelled at Beatriz."
I kept my voice neutral.
"What did they argue about?"
Isabella pressed her lips together.
"Me."
At nine ten, Elena arrived through the service entrance in dark trousers and a navy jacket, carrying a slim leather case instead of her usual briefcase.
She had represented me for twelve years and knew my business well enough to recognize when I was trying not to destroy something with my bare hands.
I showed her the sheet inside Isabella's wardrobe.
Elena photographed it from several angles.
Then she photographed the room.
"Do not remove anything yet."
"Why?"
"Because if this becomes a criminal or custody matter, I want the room documented exactly as you found it."
I swallowed my anger.
"Fine."
We moved into my study.
I showed her the deleted camera archive and the surviving rear-gate clip.
She watched without speaking.
When Javier appeared carrying boxes, she leaned closer to the screen.
"What could be in those?"
"I don't know."
"And you haven't called him?"
"No."
"Good."
She took out her phone.
"I'm bringing in a digital-forensics team."
"Today."
"I was already going to say today."
I looked toward the study door.
"Beatriz will notice strangers in the house."
"Then don't bring them into the house."
Elena pointed toward the system console.
"Is the security server physically here?"
"Basement control room."
"Can it be removed without shutting down current monitoring?"
"With a backup unit."
"Then we do it during a scheduled service inspection."
I almost smiled.
That was why I paid Elena more than some company directors.
At ten thirty, Beatriz entered the breakfast room dressed in white trousers and a pale cashmere top.
She looked as if she had spent the morning preparing for photographs instead of a confrontation.
"Are we going to pretend this is normal?"
I poured coffee.
"Nothing about yesterday was normal."
"Exactly."
She sat opposite me.
"You disappeared for three months."
"I was working."
"You always say that."
"And that made it acceptable to punish Isabella for calling me?"
The color changed in her face.
It was slight, but I saw it.
"What are you talking about?"
"Her point system."
Beatriz exhaled and leaned back.
"You found the chart."
"I did."
"Then you saw that it was about structure."
"Calling her father costs ten points."
"Because she was becoming obsessive."
"About speaking to me?"
"About interrupting everything whenever she wanted attention."
Her calmness was astonishing.
"She is eight."
"And eight-year-olds need boundaries."
I looked at her for several seconds.
"Where is Carmen?"
That question finally broke the rhythm she had prepared.
Beatriz reached for her coffee, then stopped.
"Carmen resigned."
"You told me she was visiting family."
"At first she was."
"Isabella says you sent her away after an argument."
Beatriz gave a humorless laugh.
"So now we're treating an eight-year-old's version of staff management as evidence?"
"What was the argument about?"
"Carmen had become emotionally attached to Isabella and refused to respect my authority."
"My authority too?"
"You weren't here."
The words came out before she could soften them.
Silence followed.
Beatriz looked away first.
"That isn't what I meant."
"I think it is."
She stood.
"I'm not doing this while you're determined to misunderstand everything."
"Sit down."
She froze.
I almost never gave her commands.
That was probably why she obeyed.
"Did you fire Carmen?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because you were negotiating a billion-euro development and I didn't think a staffing issue deserved a crisis call."
"Where is she now?"
"I don't know."
She said it too quickly.
I nodded once.
"All right."
Beatriz narrowed her eyes.
"That's it?"
"For now."
She studied me for a long moment, searching for the anger she knew how to fight.
I gave her nothing.
After she left, Elena stepped out from the pantry corridor where she had been waiting beyond sight.
"She knows you don't believe her."
"I know."
"Then expect her to start cleaning."
"She already cleaned eleven weeks of camera footage."
Elena's expression remained grim.
"Which means we need Carmen before Beatriz reaches her."
I called my corporate security director, Luis Ortega, and gave him Carmen's full name, old employee records, and last known emergency contact.
He called back forty-three minutes later.
"We found her."
"Where?"
"Málaga."
"Is she safe?"
Luis paused.
"Probably."
"What does probably mean?"
"It means she checked into a private apartment under her sister's name and has barely left for six weeks."
My grip tightened on the phone.
"Why?"
"I don't know yet."
"Can you speak to her?"
"I already tried."
"And?"
"She refused to open the door until I told her you were back from Dubai."
I stood.
"I'm coming."
Luis stopped me with one sentence.
"Gabriel, there's something else."
"What?"
"Carmen says she has proof."
I looked at Elena.
"Proof of what?"
Luis lowered his voice.
"She wouldn't tell me over the phone."
He paused.
May you like
"She only said that if Beatriz learns you found her, Isabella may not be the only person in danger."
SHE SAID YOU WOULD BELIEVE HER
