Chapter 4 - THE BOARDING SCHOOL FORM
The school existed.
That was the first thing my attorney, Ana Morales, confirmed.
Montreux House Academy.
Private residential school in Switzerland.
Expensive.
Strict.
Legitimate.
And someone had submitted an application for Isabella six weeks earlier.
I had not.
The scanned application carried my electronic signature.
Ana called me at nine that night.
“Did you authorize this?”
“No.”
“Are you sure you didn’t sign a broad education document?”
“Ana.”
“Understood.”
The application described Isabella as disruptive.
Defiant.
Emotionally unstable after the death of her biological mother.
My hands began shaking.
Elena had died five years earlier after a long illness.
Isabella was three.
She remembered fragments.
Her mother’s perfume.
Songs.
A white hat.
A voice saying sweetheart.
Beatriz entered our lives two years later.
At first, she seemed patient.
Warm.
Careful not to replace anyone.
Now she had used Elena’s death as evidence against Elena’s child.
I kept reading.
PARENTAL CONCERN.
Increasing behavioral problems during father’s extended international travel.
Potential need for structured residential placement.
I stared at the sentence.
“Who wrote this?”
Ana answered.
“Most of it appears to have been completed from Beatriz’s email.”
“And my signature?”
“Copied or applied electronically.”
“When does the school expect Isabella?”
A pause.
“Two weeks.”
The same date I had originally planned to return from Dubai.
I sat very still.
Beatriz thought she had two more weeks.
That was why my arrival mattered.
She was running out of time.
Ana continued.
“There’s a deposit.”
“How much?”
“Thirty thousand euros.”
“From where?”
“Your household account.”
I closed my eyes.
Then Ana said.
“There is something stranger.”
“What?”
“The emergency guardian contact.”
I looked down at Isabella asleep beside me.
“Who?”
“Beatriz.”
“Expected.”
“No.”
“Secondary contact.”
Ana paused.
“Sergio Valdés.”
I knew the name.
Beatriz’s cousin.
At least that was how she introduced him.
A businessman from Madrid.
He had attended our wedding.
Visited the villa occasionally.
I never liked him.
“Why Sergio?”
“I was hoping you knew.”
I didn’t.
The next morning, external security delivered access logs.
Sergio had entered the villa fourteen times while I was in Dubai.
Often after midnight.
Always using Beatriz’s guest authorization.
I looked at Luis.
“Did you know?”
My driver looked uncomfortable.
“I saw him twice.”
“At night?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Luis stared at the floor.
“Mrs. Navarro said it was family business.”
There was that phrase.
Family.
Useful word.
Then security showed me one more thing.
The primary bedroom door had registered access at 1:17 a.m. during one of Sergio’s visits.
He remained inside the villa until 5:40.
I stared at the log.
My marriage had already become uglier.
But Ana’s next call made the affair feel almost irrelevant.
“Gabriel.”
“Yes?”
“We found why they want Isabella in Switzerland.”
May you like
I stopped breathing.
“It is connected to Elena’s estate.”
