CHAPTER 2: THE MONEY TRAIL
By midnight, the mansion was silent.
Alejandro had moved his daughters into the master bedroom, where the fireplace burned warm and bright.
He ordered food from the private kitchen himself.
Not plated meals.
Not luxury portions arranged like art.
Real food.
Soup.
Rice.
Soft bread.
Warm milk.
The girls ate slowly at first, glancing at him between bites, waiting for someone to stop them.
No one did.
Camila cried into her spoon.
Regina ate with both hands.
Sofía fell asleep halfway through her meal with bread still clutched in her fist.
Alejandro watched them in silence.
Every bite was an accusation.
At one in the morning, he called his family attorney.
At one fifteen, he called his private security chief.
At one thirty, he opened the locked office Jimena had claimed she “redecorated” while he was gone.
Inside, he found invoices.
Stacks of them.
Designer gowns.
Jewelry.
Private spa retreats.
Luxury cars.
Party planners.
Champagne orders.
And every payment had come from the account he created for his daughters’ care.
Two hundred thousand dollars a month.
For nutrition.
Education.
Medical supervision.
Nannies.
Therapy.
Safety.
He kept digging.
Then he found something worse.
Medical bills that were never paid.
A dismissal letter from the girls’ pediatrician.
Three fired nannies.
And one sealed envelope from a woman named Marta Ruiz.
Alejandro opened it.
His hands went still.
Dear Mr. Santillán,
I tried to contact you several times, but Mrs. Santillán blocked every attempt. I cannot stay silent anymore. Your daughters are being isolated, underfed, and punished. I have recorded what I could. If anything happens to me, please check the downstairs wine cellar camera.
Marta Ruiz had been the girls’ nanny.
Alejandro remembered her vaguely.
Jimena had told him Marta stole jewelry.
He had believed her.
Now he knew.
Jimena had lied.
He turned to his security chief.
“Find Marta Ruiz.”
The man nodded.
“And pull every camera from the wine cellar.”
Thirty minutes later, Alejandro watched the footage on his office screen.
At first, there was nothing.
A hallway.
A locked door.
Then Jimena appeared, dragging Sofía by the arm.
Alejandro stopped breathing.
Sofía was crying silently, her little face twisted with fear.
Jimena bent down and smiled into her face.
“You want your father? Then earn him.”
The video continued.
Jimena locked Sofía in the dark wine cellar for nearly two hours.
Alejandro did not move.
His attorney, standing beside him, whispered, “Alejandro…”
He raised one hand.
The footage changed.
Another clip.
Jimena telling the girls they were too ugly to attend a charity event.
Another clip.
Jimena forcing Valeria to repeat, “Daddy left because we were bad.”
Another clip.
Jimena laughing while a party guest asked where the children were.
“Upstairs,” Jimena said on video. “Learning discipline.”
Alejandro stood so suddenly his chair slammed backward.
His attorney grabbed his arm.
“Do not go to her angry.”
Alejandro looked at him.
“I am past angry.”
Downstairs, Jimena was in the foyer, speaking urgently into her phone.
“No, he knows something,” she whispered. “I need the passports tonight.”
Alejandro stopped at the top of the stairs.
Passports.
Jimena turned.
Her face drained.
Slowly, Alejandro descended.
“Going somewhere?”
Jimena lowered the phone.
For one second, she tried to smile.
Then Alejandro held up the folder of invoices.
Her smile died completely.
“You stole from my children.”
Jimena’s eyes sharpened.
“I protected your image.”
“You starved them.”
“I shaped them.”
“You locked my daughter in a cellar.”
Jimena’s face twitched.
Then she made one mistake.
She laughed.
“Alejandro, please. They are children. They’ll forget.”
Behind him, the front door opened.
Two police officers stepped inside.
May you like
Alejandro looked at his wife for the last time as a husband.
“No,” he said. “They won’t.”
