Chapter 8 - The Woman Who Came Without a Driver —
Beatriz chose a small café far from the restaurant.
She arrived alone.
Marina almost left when she saw her.
Everything about the woman looked expensive, even the way she sat with her bag tucked neatly against her chair.
Marina’s own sleeve had been cut to fit around the dressing.
Beatriz noticed.
“I’m sorry.”
Marina remained standing.
“Did your husband send you?”
“No.”
“Does he know you’re here?”
“No.”
That answer made Marina sit.
Ana joined them two minutes later. Beatriz seemed relieved to see her.
“I photographed the envelope,” Beatriz said. “I didn’t take it. I don’t know what’s on the drive.”
“Then we won’t pretend we do,” Ana said.
Beatriz nodded.
For a moment, none of them spoke.
Then Marina asked, “Where were you?”
“Yesterday?”
“When he learned to talk to people like that.”
Beatriz’s face changed.
Ana glanced at Marina but didn’t interrupt.
“I was there,” Beatriz said.
Marina hadn’t expected that answer.
“I corrected him,” Beatriz continued. “Then his father contradicted me, and I let it go. I told myself he was little. I told myself we’d handle it later.”
“He laughed at me.”
“I know.”
“No. You watched a video. I was standing there.”
Beatriz lowered her eyes.
“You’re right.”
There was no excuse after it. No mention of stress or childhood or how sweet Enzo could be at home.
Marina found that harder to answer than an argument.
“Why are you helping?”
“Because he did something cruel. And my husband is teaching him that the mistake was getting caught.”
Ana slid a sheet of paper across the table.
“Write down exactly what you heard. Dates, words, who was present. Don’t take things you have no right to access. Don’t guess.”
Beatriz picked up the pen.
Halfway through writing, her phone lit up.
RICARDO.
She silenced it.
It rang again.
Then a message appeared.
Where is Enzo?
Beatriz frowned and called home.
The housekeeper answered breathlessly.
“He left with Mr. Almeida.”
“When?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
Another message arrived from Ricardo.
May you like
If you insist on making this public, we’ll let our son explain it himself.
Below it was a photograph of Enzo sitting beneath studio lights.
