“That part of me is glad he’s scared.”
You take her hand.
“No. That makes you human.”
At Hortensia’s apartment, detectives find more than records.
They find a locked box containing Ariadna’s missing jewelry, copies of her IDs, blank prescription pads from a doctor connected to Mauricio’s firm, and printed emails discussing “behavior management” and “timing concerns.”
Timing concerns.
You have defended enough cases to know when language is trying to wear gloves.
In Mauricio’s hotel room, they find a burner phone.
On it are messages between him and Hortensia.
She’s getting harder to control.
Then make her look unstable.
Her mother is the problem.
The mother can be handled after the money is secure.
You read that last line in Rachel’s office.
The mother can be handled.
Ariadna looks terrified.
You feel only ice.
“Rachel,” you say, “add me to every threat report.”
Rachel nods.
Already done.
The first time Ariadna laughs after the assault, it is accidental.
You are both sitting at your kitchen table reviewing safe housing options when your cat, Frida, jumps onto a pile of legal documents and knocks over your coffee. Ariadna gasps, then starts laughing. Not much. Just a crack of sound.
Then she cries because the laugh scared her.
“I forgot I could do that,” she says.
You clean the coffee and say, “Frida has billed you for emotional support.”
Ariadna laughs again.
Tiny.
