“My name is Tomás Vera. I’ve been Vicente Aranda’s personal driver for nine years. I recorded this because I saw him order the murder of Mr. Enríquez and frame Mateo Santos. I also saw him bribe Inspector Ledesma and witness Cifuentes. If anything happens to me, look for the red ledger in the service department of the house in Valle Escondido. It contains the dates, amounts, and names.”
Clara opened her eyes violently.
“Thomas…” she whispered.
Mateo turned to her.
Do you know him?
Clara took a while to reply.
Too much.
—He was… he was the driver who followed me twice when I went to the hospital in my last months of pregnancy.
Mateo felt a cold shiver run down his chest.
—And you never told me?
—I thought I was being paranoid. I thought it was because of the trial. Mateo, I swear I thought it was just fear.
Vicente let out a short, ugly laugh.
Yes. Poor Thomas. A sentimental idiot.
“Where is he?”, the judge asked.
Vicente did not respond.
It wasn’t necessary.
The expression on her face said it all.
Dead.
Probably dead.
The judge was about to order the arrest when everything exploded.
Vicente pushed the lawyer beside him and lunged at Clara.
Not against Matthew.
Against Clara.
Against the baby.
It happened so fast that several people took a while to understand.
I loved Leo.
Or I wanted to use it to go out.
Matthew roared.
Even handcuffed, he threw himself to the side and shoved Vicente in the abdomen before he could touch the child. The two fell against the bedside table. The laptop flew to the floor. Clara screamed and leaned against the wall, clutching her son.
The guards ran.
Vicente finally took something out of his pocket.
It wasn’t a phone.
It was a small pocket pistol.
The room erupted in panic.
A shot ripped through the air.
The bullet became lodged in the wooden platform.
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