At 9:00 a.m., Lucía left with the four children. The sound of the car engine faded away. The enormous house fell silent. I could only hear my own heartbeat. It was time, but first I had to make sure it was safe. I looked out the window and saw Lucía’s car disappear around the corner. I silently searched the house, checking every room, including the master bedroom and the children’s rooms. There was no one there.
I stood before the office door. The dark wooden door, closed, seemed an insurmountable barrier. Hugo’s trembling words echoed in my mind. Help Mom. I took a deep breath. I grasped the cold brass handle and turned it. It was locked. As expected. I’d noticed that Marcos always locked it when he came in and out, but Lucía must have a spare key, at least for cleaning. Where did she keep it? I looked in the most obvious places.
Not on the key ring by the front door. Not in the living room drawers either. I went to the kitchen, where I spent most of my time. I opened several drawers full of junk, without success. Finally, on top of the refrigerator, in an inconspicuous cookie tin, I found a loose brass key. My heart raced. It had to be this one. I went back to the office, put the key in the lock, and turned it gently. Click. The door opened. A smell of leather, paper, and electronics greeted me.
The office wasn’t large, but it was immaculate. A huge, solid wood desk stood facing the window, flanked by two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves crammed with German books and filing cabinets. On the desk sat a desktop computer, a neat stack of documents, and a pen holder—nothing else. In one corner, a small safe. Everything was in its place, reflecting Marcos’s methodical and controlling nature. I closed the door behind me without locking it. Just in case; I needed to be able to leave quickly.
I went to the desk and turned on the computer. The screen lit up asking for the password, Hugo’s note, Mom’s birthday spelled backward, and then mine. Lucía’s birthday is August 15th, spelled backward, 518, Hugo’s birthday. Oh, I remembered that Lucía had mentioned that her oldest son was born in December, I think the 3rd. She had posted something on social media, hadn’t she? Marcos monitored his social media; he rarely posted photos of the children or personal information, but yesterday I think he said that Hugo’s birthday was in early December.
What day? I tried 5181203. Incorrect password. 4 1,205 I tried 100 million 124 incorrect. My hands were starting to sweat. Time was running out; I couldn’t keep trying randomly. Calm down, Hugo typed my birthday. Children usually remember their civil birthday. It would be December 1st or 2nd. I tried million senitanta humildo senzun incorrect. Opa ylingar. The screen flickered, and the desktop appeared. I let out a sigh of relief, but at the same time, a pang of self-pity. The boy wasn’t lying; he knew the password and had used it to ask me for help.
The desktop was clean, just a few icons for basic programs and several folders. I quickly scanned them. Most were work-related, with neat names: Q3 2025 Report, contracts, projects, suppliers—everything seemed normal, but Hugo said there were some issues. Where? I opened the contracts folder. They were standard contracts in German. I didn’t understand much, but it seemed to be a collaboration agreement with an Asian medical distributor. The amount was considerable. I opened several financial reports, numbers upon numbers. I’m no expert, and I couldn’t make anything out.
Time passed, and my heart beat faster and faster. I wondered if it was in a hidden folder or an encrypted file. I tried viewing the system’s hidden files, but found nothing. Just as I was about to give up and check my browser history, my gaze fell on the bottom right drawer of the desk. It had a small combination lock, not a key lock. What could the password be? I tried Marcos’s birthday. Nothing. Neither did their wedding anniversary, which Lucía had mentioned once.
Finally, on impulse, I typed 5181202 again. Click. The lock opened. My hands were shaking. I opened the drawer. Inside there were no documents, just a black USB drive, unmarked. This had to be it. I quickly plugged it into the computer. It contained only a folder with a random name of letters and numbers. I opened it. Inside were several video files created in the last few months. I opened the first one. The image was shaky, as if it were being recorded from a corner of a meeting room.
The image showed Marcos and two other men in suits. One of them looked familiar; it was Mr. Sánchez. They were speaking quickly in Spanish. I didn’t understand everything, but several words were repeated: risk, guarantee, transfer of accounts, audit. The second video was in a warehouse. Marcos was directing some workers who were loading boxes with medical supply labels onto a truck with no company logo. The light was dim, but Marcos’s face was perfectly visible. The third was a screen recording.
Marcos was seen operating a foreign bank’s website, making a transfer. The amount was enormous. The recipient was an offshore company with a very long name. The transfer was for consulting fees. The fourth video showed Marcos meeting with a man who looked Middle Eastern. The man handed him a thick briefcase. Marcos opened it, and it was clearly full of stacks of euro banknotes. My blood ran cold. Although I didn’t understand all the conversations and didn’t know all the details, the images were enough to paint a terrifying picture.
Marcos or his company was involved in illegal financial operations. Perhaps something even more serious. Were those medical devices faulty? Where was that money going, that cash transaction? The bad things Hugo was talking about were far worse than I had imagined. It wasn’t just family control and stinginess. This was very likely a crime. If it came to light, Marcos would end up ruined or even in jail. And Lucía and the children would be dragged into it.
At that moment I heard the front door open and then the children’s voices. Impossible. Lucía said it would take three hours. Barely one had passed. My hair stood on end. As quickly as possible, I ejected the USB drive, closed the video windows, and took the folder out of the computer and put it in my pocket. I turned off the computer, all in a matter of seconds. I ran out of the office, closing the door behind me. I didn’t even have time to lock it.
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