It was Renata.
Esteban’s current wife.
The woman he had married less than a year after Gael’s death. The impeccably dressed philanthropist with a serene smile. The new lady of the house where Camila had once dreamed of raising her son. The same woman who, in interviews, spoke of family values and child protection as if her tongue wouldn’t rot.
“He used a fake ID badge linked to a temporary cleaning company,” Ibarra explained. “At the time, no one detected it because the death was already recorded as a genetic complication. The audit revealed unusual activity in the system.”
Camila didn’t take her eyes off the screen.
—Why would I do that?
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The detectives exchanged a glance.
—We are still investigating that.
It wasn’t true. They already suspected something. You could see it on their faces.
That night, back in her apartment, Camila sat on the living room floor with all the lights on. The place seemed smaller than ever. The cheap coffee table, the worn sofa, the blanket she’d bought on installments to keep her company in winter. Everything felt like a foreign backdrop. For six years she’d carefully built a quiet, uneventful life, like someone constructing a paper house around their trauma. And now someone had just set it on fire again.
At 9:23 his phone rang.
Esteban.
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He hadn’t called her in almost two years. The last time was for a tax matter, and he didn’t even ask how she was. He just answered.
“What happened at the hospital?” he blurted out without greeting.
Camila closed her eyes.
—That’s your first sentence.
—The legal department called me. They’re asking about Renata.
—Gael did not die from a genetic condition.
On the other side there was a dry silence.
—What are you saying?
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—They poisoned him. And they have video.
Esteban’s breathing barely changed. A minimal sound, but Camila knew it all too well. It was the noise he made when something was out of control.
—That’s impossible.
—The woman who appears is your wife.
—No.
—They have the recording, Esteban.
—You don’t know Renata.
The phrase turned her soul. She didn’t say, “Let’s see the evidence.” She didn’t say, “My God.” She didn’t say, “Who did this to my son?” She said she didn’t know Renata.
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