Chapter 9 - THE FILE CALLED ALBA
The flash drive contained records from seventeen suspected fraud schemes.
But one folder had my name on it.
LUCÍA NAVARRO.
Inside were copies of my identification.
My forged signature.
The house deed.
My grandmother’s death certificate.
Photographs of the property.
Even photographs of Mateo and me.
Someone had been watching us long before the threat.
Then Carmen found another folder.
ALBA.
I felt physically sick.
“Why is my daughter’s name there?”
Nobody answered until the folder was opened.
There were hospital records.
My expected delivery date.
The address of my parents’ house.
A photograph of me entering the hospital before my C-section.
Mateo stood so quickly his chair hit the wall.
“What the hell is this?”
Carmen’s expression hardened.
“This changes things.”
Someone had known exactly when I would be vulnerable.
The timing wasn’t an accident.
The sale was scheduled immediately after my delivery because Sergio believed I would be physically unable to interfere.
My parents had allowed him to believe that.
Maybe they had even helped.
I stared at Noelia.
“Did you tell him my delivery date?”
She started crying again.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He asked.”
That answer was almost worse.
He asked.
So she told him.
Because my privacy had never been important to her.
Because my life was information she believed she had the right to give away.
Mateo moved between us.
Not because he thought I would hurt her.
Because he knew I was falling apart.
Carmen continued examining the files.
Then she found an audio recording.
Sergio’s voice.
My father’s voice.
And my mother’s.
The recording had been made six days before Alba was born.
My mother spoke first.
“She’ll come here after the hospital.”
Sergio answered.
“Good.”
“Keep her there until the paperwork is ready.”
My father sounded nervous.
“What if she asks questions?”
My mother laughed.
“Lucía never asks questions.”
“She complains, cries, then does what she’s told.”
I stopped breathing.
Mateo reached for my hand.
The recording continued.
Sergio said something about needing my signature.
My father said he could handle it.
Then my mother said the sentence that ended whatever remained between us.
“If we have to throw her out afterward, we throw her out.”
Silence filled the room.
Noelia looked horrified.
“You knew.”
I whispered.
My mother had planned it.
Maybe not the hair pulling.
Maybe not the reopened incision.
But the humiliation.
The removal.
The abandonment.
That part was planned.
I looked at Carmen.
“I want everything documented.”
“It will be.”
“I don’t want excuses.”
“You won’t get any from me.”
“And I want them away from my daughter.”
Carmen nodded.
“We can help your attorney pursue protective measures.”
I looked at Noelia.
She understood before I said anything.
“You too.”
Her face collapsed.
“Lucía.”
“You gave strangers information about my baby.”
“I didn’t know.”
“That sentence doesn’t work anymore.”
She cried quietly.
I felt nothing.
Not satisfaction.
Not revenge.
Just exhaustion.
Then Carmen’s phone rang.
She answered.
Listened.
And looked directly at Noelia.
“What?”
Noelia whispered.
Carmen ended the call.
“They found Sergio.”
Noelia exhaled.
“Where?”
“At Madrid-Barajas Airport.”
“With two tickets.”
“One was in his name.”
May you like
Carmen paused.
“The other was in your son’s.”
