Chapter 3 - THE HIDDEN DOSSIERThe ride back to the Las Lomas estate was a blur of terror and rising rage for Rosa.
The pieces of the terrifying puzzle were coming together. Valeria Montes didn't just work in the pharmaceutical industry; she had worked as a senior regulatory executive for an international drug manufacturer before meeting Esteban Torres. She had access to rare chemicals, specialized compounds, and the medical knowledge required to simulate a fatal illness without raising suspicion among general practitioners.
Why?
The motive was glaringly obvious. Camila was the sole heir to the vast Torres fortune and the primary beneficiary of the multi-billion-dollar family trust created after her mother, Sofia’s, death. If Camila died before Esteban married Valeria, the trust would remain locked. But if Valeria married Esteban first, and then the little girl died of an "incurable natural illness," Valeria would become the legal stepmother and co-heir to Esteban’s entire estate.
And worse—if something subsequently happened to Esteban, Valeria would inherit everything.
When Rosa returned to the mansion through the service entrance at three in the afternoon, the estate was strangely quiet. The staff were preparing the grand gardens for the upcoming wedding, setting up massive white marquees and flower arches.
Rosa quickly slipped upstairs to the nursery.
Camila was lying in bed, her skin grey, her tiny lips dry and cracked. She opened her eyes weakly when she heard Rosa’s footsteps.
“Rosa...” the little girl whimpered, reaching out a fragile arm.
“I’m here, my sweet angel,” Rosa whispered, dropping to her knees beside the bed, kissing Camila’s small, cold forehead. “I’m here. You don't have to drink those vitamins ever again. I promise you.”
“Stomach... hurts so much...” Camila whimpered, tears sliding down her grey cheeks.
Rosa knew she couldn't simply go to Esteban with Carlos’s printout. Esteban was blind to Valeria’s manipulations, completely captivated by her charm and desperate for his daughter to recover. If Rosa accused Valeria without absolute, undeniable proof of origin, Valeria would turn the tables, accuse Rosa of stealing or tampering with the child’s medicine, and have her thrown in prison before nightfall.
She needed to find where Valeria kept the raw chemicals. She needed the physical bottles.
Rosa waited until five o'clock in the evening, when Valeria returned home and went into the private master suite to take a bath before dinner. Inspector Bravo was downstairs overseeing the delivery of expensive wines for the wedding reception.
Knowing she had only a narrow window of time, Rosa took her master ring of housekeeper keys and crept down the silent carpeted hallway toward Valeria’s private sitting room—an elegant office adjoining the master bedroom that was always kept locked.
Rosa tried the keys one by one. Her hands were sweating so heavily that key after key slipped from her fingers.
Click.
The fourth key turned the brass lock.
Rosa opened the door quietly and slipped inside, closing it behind her. The room was luxurious, filled with white velvet furniture, mirrored desks, and expensive art.
Rosa began searching frantically. She checked the desk drawers—nothing but wedding invitations, designer catalogs, and financial reports. She checked the filing cabinets—only personal bank statements and real estate deeds.
She was about to give up when her eyes caught a large, gilded oil painting of Valeria hanging behind the velvet sofa. Rosa walked over and pushed gently on the heavy wooden frame.
The painting swung open smoothly, revealing a hidden wall safe recessed into the plaster.
Rosa’s heart sank. A digital keypad flashed blue. She didn't know the combination.
Think, Rosa, think! she told herself frantically.
What numbers would Valeria use? Her birthday? The wedding date?
Then Rosa noticed a small leather notebook sitting on the side table beside the sofa. She flipped through the pages. Most were empty, but on the back cover, a four-digit number was written in elegant silver ink: 0-7-1-4.
July 14th—the date Sofia Torres had died in childbirth four years ago. The day Valeria’s grand plan had begun.
Rosa reached out and typed the four digits into the keypad.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
A quiet mechanical click sounded, and the heavy steel door of the safe swung open.
Rosa gasped.
Inside the safe were not just stacks of foreign currency and diamond jewelry. Sitting on a black velvet tray were three unlabelled amber glass bottles containing a clear liquid, along with several pre-filled medical syringes.
Beside the bottles lay a thick, leather-bound dossier labeled: SOFIA TORRES - MEDICAL HISTORY & METABOLIC PROFILES.
Rosa pulled the dossier out and opened it. Inside were detailed hospital records from four years ago, belonging to Esteban’s deceased wife, Sofia. Attached to the records were handwritten notes in Valeria’s precise handwriting, detailing specific dosages of chemical compounds, dates, and metabolic reaction times.
Rosa’s eyes scanned a underlined paragraph near the back of the file:
“Compound T-S exhibits identical symptoms to late-stage familial amyloidosis. Undetectable in standard metabolic panels. Ingestion over 10-12 months ensures complete renal failure. Sofia’s post-partum state will obscure initial exposure...”
A wave of utter, paralyzing shock washed over Rosa.
Sofia Torres hadn't died from complications during childbirth.
Valeria had been Sofia’s personal health consultant during her high-risk pregnancy four years ago. Valeria had murdered Camila’s mother, waited in the shadows until Esteban was crushed by grief, stepped in to comfort the wealthy widower, and was now systematically murdering the daughter to finish wiping out the entire bloodline.
It was a cold, calculated double murder spanning four years.
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Suddenly, a cold voice spoke from the open doorway behind her.
“You really should have learned to mind your own business, housekeeper.”
