I stood before the office door. The dark wooden door, closed, seemed an insurmountable barrier. Hugo’s trembling words echoed in my mind. Help Mom. I took a deep breath. I grasped the cold brass handle and turned it. It was locked. As expected. I’d noticed that Marcos always locked it when he came in and out, but Lucía must have a spare key, at least for cleaning. Where did she keep it? I looked in the most obvious places.
Not on the key ring by the front door. Not in the living room drawers either. I went to the kitchen, where I spent most of my time. I opened several drawers full of junk, without success. Finally, on top of the refrigerator, in an inconspicuous cookie tin, I found a loose brass key. My heart raced. It had to be this one. I went back to the office, put the key in the lock, and turned it gently. Click. The door opened. A smell of leather, paper, and electronics greeted me.
The office wasn’t large, but it was immaculate. A huge, solid wood desk stood facing the window, flanked by two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves crammed with German books and filing cabinets. On the desk sat a desktop computer, a neat stack of documents, and a pen holder—nothing else. In one corner, a small safe. Everything was in its place, reflecting Marcos’s methodical and controlling nature. I closed the door behind me without locking it. Just in case; I needed to be able to leave quickly.
I went to the desk and turned on the computer. The screen lit up asking for the password, Hugo’s note, Mom’s birthday spelled backward, and then mine. Lucía’s birthday is August 15th, spelled backward, 518, Hugo’s birthday. Oh, I remembered that Lucía had mentioned that her oldest son was born in December, I think the 3rd. She had posted something on social media, hadn’t she? Marcos monitored his social media; he rarely posted photos of the children or personal information, but yesterday I think he said that Hugo’s birthday was in early December.
What day? I tried 5181203. Incorrect password. 4 1,205 I tried 100 million 124 incorrect. My hands were starting to sweat. Time was running out; I couldn’t keep trying randomly. Calm down, Hugo typed my birthday. Children usually remember their civil birthday. It would be December 1st or 2nd. I tried million senitanta humildo senzun incorrect. Opa ylingar. The screen flickered, and the desktop appeared. I let out a sigh of relief, but at the same time, a pang of self-pity. The boy wasn’t lying; he knew the password and had used it to ask me for help.
The desktop was clean, just a few icons for basic programs and several folders. I quickly scanned them. Most were work-related, with neat names: Q3 2025 Report, contracts, projects, suppliers—everything seemed normal, but Hugo said there were some issues. Where? I opened the contracts folder. They were standard contracts in German. I didn’t understand much, but it seemed to be a collaboration agreement with an Asian medical distributor. The amount was considerable. I opened several financial reports, numbers upon numbers. I’m no expert, and I couldn’t make anything out.
Time passed, and my heart beat faster and faster. I wondered if it was in a hidden folder or an encrypted file. I tried viewing the system’s hidden files, but found nothing. Just as I was about to give up and check my browser history, my gaze fell on the bottom right drawer of the desk. It had a small combination lock, not a key lock. What could the password be? I tried Marcos’s birthday. Nothing. Neither did their wedding anniversary, which Lucía had mentioned once.
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