Chapter 2
791 words
The Secret Behind the East Corridor
The east corridor of the mansion was one of the least traveled areas of the residence.
Unlike the main lobby, saturated with light and finished in gleaming marble, this wing retained the original architecture of the house: walls covered with dark walnut wood paneling, a thick hallway tapestry that muffled footsteps, and dim lighting from aged bronze wall sconces.
Mateo strode down the corridor, chest puffed out, feeling like he owned the world. Behind him, his wife stood in the doorway, absentmindedly checking her cell phone and paying no real attention to her husband’s stride. For both of them, victory was a foregone conclusion; the rest was just a formality.
Upon reaching the third door on the left, Mateo noticed something unusual. The solid wood door wasn’t simply ajar; it had a high-tech electronic lock installed, complete with a stainless steel and touchscreen display that clashed dramatically with the classic frame.
made of walnut. It was a detail that Mateo had never noticed in his few and brief previous visits to the property.
He frowned. He guessed that his father, in his old solitary eccentricities, had decided to lock away his personal documents or some collection of antique watches.
“Where did you say they were, Dad?” Mateo shouted toward the foyer, his voice echoing off the wooden floorboards. “The door has a digital lock. What’s the code?”
From a distance, Don Aurelio’s answer came with a clarity that slightly chilled Mateo’s blood, not because of the tone, but because of the precision of the words.
“It doesn’t need a code, Mateo,” replied the old man, whose slow footsteps could be heard approaching down the hall. “It’s open. I was just waiting for the right person to turn the handle.”
Mateo pursed his lips in irritation, feeling mocked by his father’s subtlety. He grabbed
She gripped the brass handle firmly and lowered it. The lock gave a metallic click, a sharp *click* that echoed down the hall like a trigger being pulled, and the door slowly slid inward.
The room wasn’t dark, but the light didn’t come from a lamp or the main window, which remained covered by heavy blue velvet curtains. The light source was a series of high-resolution monitors lined up along an executive oak desk that occupied the center of the room.
Mateo took a step inside, expecting to see leather suitcases piled in a corner or cardboard boxes full of old clothes. Instead, what he found in the middle of the room made him stop dead in his tracks, his right foot dangling a few millimeters off the floor.
There were no suitcases.
In the exact center of the room, on a glass side table, rested a simple black leather folder on which rested an antique-style gold key and two executive cell phones whose screens were on, showing ongoing calls in standby mode.
But what really paralyzed Mateo was not the screens or the folder, but the three people standing behind the desk, dressed in impeccable dark suits and carrying rigid leather briefcases.
At the center of the group sat Licenciado Gabriel Mendoza, the most influential and feared corporate lawyer in the city, a man whose mere presence in a boardroom meant imminent bankruptcy or the complete restructuring of any company. To his left, Colonel Ramírez, head of the National Police’s economic crimes and internal affairs division, wore his full dress uniform with gleaming insignia on his chest. To his right, a senior auditor from the international accounting firm that managed the family group’s assets observed Mateo with a neutral, almost clinical expression.
Mateo felt his throat go dry instantly. The stifled laughter and arrogance that had accompanied him for the last twenty minutes dissipated like smoke caught in a draft of cold air.
“What… what is this?” Mateo stammered, taking a step back, instinctively looking around for his wife, who had just arrived at the hallway door, drawn by the sudden silence.
Don Aurelio stood right next to the door, framing the scene with his arms crossed and a serenity that now became imposing.
“They came to get my suitcases, didn’t they?” said Don Aurelio, keeping his eyes fixed on his son. “Well, there are my belongings. Everything I’ve built, protected, and documented over the last three years.”
Chapter 3
777 words
Mateo’s wife entered the room with a hesitant step, the color quickly disappearing from her perfectly made-up cheekbones as she recognized Licenciado Mendoza’s face in the media.
—Matthew… who are these people? —she whispered, her voice completely losing the imperious tone with which she had ordered the old man to retreat a few minutes earlier.
Mr. Mendoza stepped forward, adjusting his metal-framed glasses, and opened the black leather folder on the glass table.
