You read it once.
Then you send it to Detective Vega and your colleague Marissa Chen.
Marissa is a defamation attorney with a smile like a scalpel.
She replies:
Delicious. Keep her talking.
So you do.
You do not respond publicly.
That is what Hortensia wants.
She wants a fight. She wants to pull you into mud and then complain that your shoes are dirty. You have seen this strategy for decades: make the victim react, then call the reaction proof.
Instead, you begin the work.
First, you take Ariadna to your house in Pasadena.
Not the guest room. Your room.
She protests, saying she does not want to take your bed.
You say, “You are my daughter. You are not an inconvenience.”
She cries again.
You notice she cries whenever someone gives her permission to exist.
That is one more thing Mauricio stole.
You set up safety measures.
New phone. New email. Password changes. Banking alerts. Credit freeze. Security cameras. A locksmith for her apartment once police clear access. A protective order hearing scheduled within forty-eight hours. A trauma therapist. A financial forensic accountant. A divorce attorney who is not you, because love makes poor counsel when the wound is too close.
