Due to the economic crisis and competition, some family-owned and privately held companies in the sector were experiencing financial difficulties and restructuring. Some had even faced tax problems. And if Marcos’s company was also struggling, was that why he controlled household expenses so meticulously? Was that why he was so obsessed with order and stability, because it was the only thing he could control? And he might have even chosen Lucía, a foreign woman with a small social circle and dependent on him, precisely because she was safer and easier to control.
If that was the case, what was Lucía to him? His partner, or a low-cost asset to maintain appearances and reduce risks? The thought sent a chill down my spine. I had to know more. But how? If I asked Lucía directly, she probably wouldn’t know anything or would deny it out of fear. And asking Marcos was unthinkable. It would only raise suspicions and worsen Lucía’s situation. I needed an entry point, a way to access the information without arousing suspicion.
I remembered that I had a visit scheduled for the next day to a small local business with whom there might be some potential business opportunity. Although my hopes were slim, it was an excuse. Perhaps I could indirectly inquire about Marcos’s company’s reputation. There are always rumors in this industry. As I tossed and turned in bed, trying to figure out how to begin, I heard very quiet footsteps outside my door. They weren’t someone going to the bathroom.
They stopped right in front of my room. Then I heard the almost imperceptible sound of a piece of paper scraping the floor under the door. Someone had put something in there. I held my breath. I waited a few seconds. The footsteps slowly faded away, going up the stairs. Who was it? Lucia, one of the children? I got up carefully and went to the door. In the dim light coming through the window, I saw a small folded piece of paper on the floor. I picked it up and unfolded it. It was written in Spanish in somewhat clumsy, shaky handwriting, as if it had been written in a hurry.
Sofia, help Mom. The password to Dad’s office computer is Mom’s birthday backwards, then my birthday. There’s bad stuff on it. Don’t say it was me. There was no signature, but she knew who it was. It was the eldest son, Hugo. He was 11 years old, with a seriousness and maturity beyond his years. During dinner, he had kept his head down, but every now and then, the glances he gave his grandfather and father held a mixture of fear, restraint, and anger.
He had realized something. He had seen something. Bad things. What things? The paper burned my hand. Children are the most sensitive. They sense the tension and fear that adults try to hide. Hugo was asking me for help, the only adult he believed could change things, and he had given me the key to finding the secret: Marcos’s office, his computer, and the password—Lucía’s birthday spelled backward plus Hugo’s.
An ironic combination. The two most important members of the family used to protect a secret that could destroy it. I gripped the paper tightly. My heart pounded in my chest. Violating someone’s privacy is taboo. But Hugo’s plea, the desperation behind Lucía’s forced smile, the cold, repressive atmosphere of this seemingly perfect family—everything compelled me to act. I knew that if I left without doing anything, I wouldn’t be able to live in peace.
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