Chapter 3 - THE MAN WHO DISAPPEARED AFTER MY ACCIDENT
I did not sleep that night.
Not because of pain.
Because of possibility.
Possibility is more dangerous than despair.
Despair asks nothing from you.
Possibility demands that you risk believing again.
Lucía and her brothers spent the night at María’s apartment.
I offered a hotel suite.
Tomás refused.
According to María, the nine-year-old had folded his arms and said:
“Hotels ask too many questions.”
I liked him already.
By eight the next morning, my security chief, Diego Alvarez, stood in my study with a file.
“Javier Morales.”
He placed it on my desk.
Thirty-nine years old at the time of my accident.
Senior vehicle technician for Romero Holdings.
Excellent employment record.
Widowed father.
Three children.
That detail stopped me.
“Lucía’s mother died?”
“Two years ago.”
“Then Javier was alive after my accident.”
“Yes.”
“Until when?”
“Officially, he disappeared eighteen months ago.”
I stared.
“Not five years?”
“No.”
That was different from what I remembered.
“Who told me he disappeared after the crash?”
Diego hesitated.
“Your uncle.”
Rafael Romero.
My father’s younger brother.
The man who took over day-to-day control of my companies while I spent a year in hospitals.
The man who still chaired Romero Holdings whenever my health prevented me from attending.
“What actually happened after the accident?”
“Javier was suspended pending investigation.”
“For brake failure?”
“Yes.”
“But police cleared him.”
“Three months later.”
“Why was I never told?”
Diego looked uncomfortable.
“You were in rehabilitation. Mr. Rafael handled communications.”
Of course.
“Then Javier returned to work?”
“For another two years.”
“Where?”
“Not vehicle operations. He was transferred to warehouse maintenance.”
A demotion.
A convenient one.
“What did he say about the crash?”
Diego opened another page.
“He filed an internal report claiming the brake-control line had been deliberately damaged.”
My hand stopped.
“When?”
“Six days before the crash.”
The room changed.
“He reported sabotage before my accident?”
“Yes.”
“To who?”
Diego looked at me.
“Carlos Mendoza.”
The restaurant manager.
The same man who had threatened to throw Lucía outside.
The same man who looked frightened when my foot moved.
Carlos had worked in corporate security before I placed him in restaurant operations.
Five years ago, he was deputy director of executive transport.
My pulse slowed.
Anger always did that to me.
“What happened to Javier’s report?”
“Marked unsubstantiated.”
“By Carlos?”
“And Dr. Serrano was copied.”
I frowned.
“Why would my doctor be involved before the accident?”
“He wasn’t your doctor then.”
True.
Serrano had become my specialist afterward.
But why was an orthopedic surgeon receiving a security report about my car?
Diego answered before I asked.
“His brother owned the private clinic that handled executive health services for Romero Holdings.”
Connections.
Too many.
I called María.
“Bring Lucía and the boys to the mansion.”
“They won’t come.”
“Tell Tomás I have questions about his father.”
Silence.
“I’ll bring them.”
They arrived at noon.
Tomás looked exactly like a child who had learned adulthood too early.
Thin.
Dark hair.
Protective eyes.
He placed himself between me and his siblings.
Nico held Lucía’s hand.
I hated seeing it.
Children should stand behind adults.
Not become them.
“I’m Alejandro.”
“We know.”
Tomás’s voice was flat.
“Your father worked for me.”
“He hated you.”
That hurt more than expected.
“Why?”
“He said your family destroys people.”
María looked at me.
I kept my gaze on Tomás.
“What happened before he disappeared?”
The boy looked toward the door.
“Nothing.”
“Tomás.”
“Rich people ask questions and then call police.”
“I won’t.”
“You can’t promise.”
“I own the security company outside.”
“That’s worse.”
Fair.
I leaned back.
“Your father filed a report before my crash. He said someone damaged my brakes.”
Tomás’s eyes flickered.
He knew.
“What did he tell you?”
“Nothing.”
Lucía interrupted.
“He said if the chair man ever finds us, give him Mama’s box.”
Tomás spun.
“Lucía!”
The room went silent.
“The chair man?” I asked.
Lucía pointed at my wheelchair.
“You.”
Tomás closed his eyes.
Apparently five-year-olds were dangerous to secrets.
“Where is the box?”
Tomás said nothing.
I waited.
Finally:
“At the station.”
We went together.
Under an abandoned stairwell near Barcelona Sants, Tomás pulled a rusted biscuit tin from behind a loose wall panel.
Inside were photographs.
A flash drive.
Three handwritten notes.
And a small voice recorder.
I held it.
Tomás whispered:
“Dad said if he didn’t come back, someone important would need that.”
I pressed play.
Static.
Then Javier Morales’s voice.
“If Alejandro Romero ever hears this, I need him to know I did not sabotage his car.”
My hands tightened.
“I reported the cut line. Carlos told me I was imagining things.”
A pause.
“The morning of the crash, I checked the vehicle again. Someone had replaced the damaged part. I thought it was safe.”
His voice shook.
“Afterward, Carlos told me to say I had never filed the first report.”
I looked at Diego.
His face hardened.
The recording continued.
“Dr. Serrano came to see me two weeks later.”
Why?
“He asked what Alejandro remembered about the crash.”
A pause.
“I told him I didn’t know.”
Another breath.
“Then he said something I will never forget.”
Javier’s voice dropped.
“He said, ‘It would have been easier if he had died.’”
María covered her mouth.
I felt suddenly cold.
The recording ended.
The flash drive contained payroll records.
Payments from shell companies.
Carlos.
Serrano.
And one more name.
Rafael Romero.
My uncle.
Millions transferred over five years.
Not enough to prove attempted murder.
Enough to prove secrecy.
I looked at Tomás.
“Where is your father?”
His jaw tightened.
“I don’t know.”
“When did you last see him?”
“Eighteen months ago.”
“What happened?”
“He went to meet someone.”
“Who?”
Tomás looked directly at me.
“Your uncle.”
My entire body went still.
“What did Rafael want?”
“To buy the box.”
“Did your father go?”
“Yes.”
“And he never came back?”
Tomás shook his head.
Lucía moved closer to me.
“He promised he would.”
I looked down at her.
The little girl who had offered me faith for leftovers.
Her father had disappeared because of the same accident that put me in a chair.
Possibly because he tried to tell the truth.
Then Diego’s phone rang.
He answered.
His face changed.
“What?”
He listened.
Then looked at me.
“Carlos left Barcelona this morning.”
“Where?”
“Unknown.”
“Find him.”
“We’re trying.”
“And Serrano?”
Another pause.
Diego lowered the phone.
“His clinic says he took an emergency flight to Switzerland.”
Running.
Both of them.
On the same day I ordered old records examined.
Then María’s phone buzzed.
She read the message.
Her face went pale.
“What?”
She turned the screen toward me.
An unknown number.
A photograph.
Tomás, Nico, and Lucía entering my mansion.
Taken less than an hour earlier.
Below it:
JAVIER SHOULD HAVE KEPT HIS CHILDREN OUT OF THIS.
And for the first time since my toes moved, I forgot about walking.
May you like
Because someone who had already made one father disappear had just noticed his children.
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