Chapter 8 - Don Esteban
Don Esteban had known Emilio Reyes.
Not casually.
They were friends.
Fifteen years earlier, Emilio came to the mansion with evidence.
Tomás was importing restricted industrial chemicals under luxury textile shipments.
Workers got sick.
Some died.
Emilio wanted to report it.
Nicolás’s father, Alejandro Velasco, refused.
Too much exposure.
Too many officials involved.
Esteban told Emilio to go outside the family.
Three days later, Emilio’s car went off a mountain road.
No proof of sabotage.
But Esteban never believed it was simple.
Years later, he saw Sofía’s name in a hospital newsletter.
Nurse Sofía Reyes.
Same eyes.
Same last name.
He followed her career quietly.
When Mateo got sick and fifteen specialists failed, Esteban saw the pattern.
Skin reaction.
Textiles.
Chemical smell.
He remembered.
So he requested Sofía.
Without telling Nicolás.
Sofía stared.
“You used me.”
Esteban nodded.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you would never come.”
He was right.
That made it worse.
Then Sofía asked:
“Did you take Tomás’s money too?”
Esteban looked down.
“Yes.”
Everyone stared.
“I gave him schedules.”
Nicolás stepped forward.
Esteban raised his hands.
“I wanted him to think I was still useful.”
Rafael understood.
“You were feeding him false information?”
“Some.”
Not all.
Dangerous double game.
Esteban had helped Tomás enough to keep access.
Then diverted Sofía into the mansion.
He hoped she would recognize the chemical.
He did not expect Mateo to suffer this badly.
Sofía slapped him.
One clean slap.
The room went silent.
She looked at her own hand, shocked.
Then:
“You do not use a baby to finish old business.”
Esteban lowered his head.
“You’re right.”
No defense.
Then Nicolás said:
“Get him out.”
Sofía stopped him.
“No.”
Everyone looked at her.
“He knows Tomás.”
Esteban nodded.
“Better than anyone.”
Then the archive timer dropped below five hours.
They needed Tomás’s biometric key.
Esteban knew one thing.
Tomás had a hidden house near Valle de Bravo.
Not on records.
A place used for meetings.
Rafael mobilized.
Sofía looked at Nicolás.
“You’re going?”
“Yes.”
“Police?”
“Yes.”
Good.
Then Nicolás said:
“You’re staying.”
“No.”
He stared.
She continued.
“My father is part of this.”
“That does not make you tactical.”
“No.”
“But I know the chemical system.”
That mattered.
Rafael agreed she could help remotely.
Compromise.
Then Mateo cried from the secure medical room.
Sofía went to him.
His rash had improved dramatically.
Valeria smiled for the first time.
“He looks like himself.”
Sofía touched his cheek.
Then noticed a tiny red puncture behind his ear.
Not from the fabric.
She checked.
Injection mark.
Fresh.
Her stomach dropped.
“Who had access to him after we moved rooms?”
Valeria answered:
“Only us.”
Leonor.
Valeria.
Nicolás.
Sofía.
Dr. Márquez.
Rafael.
And one nurse from Dr. Márquez’s team.
Sofía called for the nurse.
Gone.
Name:
Lucía Ferrer.
Dr. Adriana Ferrer’s younger sister.
The medical conspiracy had another person inside.
Then Mateo’s monitor showed a heart-rate change.
Sofía checked his pupils.
Sedative.
Again.
Lucía had dosed him during the chaos.
Why?
To make his condition appear persistent even after the textiles were removed.
The plan was still active.
Then Valeria’s phone buzzed.
A message from Lucía.
YOU SAVED THE WRONG CHILD.
Valeria stared.
“What does that mean?”
Then another message.
ASK NICOLÁS ABOUT HIS FIRST SON.
The room went silent.
May you like
Sofía looked at Nicolás.
His face changed completely.
