Chapter 2 - THE SCREAM BEHIND THE LOCKED DOOR
The scream came again.
Louder this time.
It was the sound of a woman in pain.
Every head in the ballroom turned toward the staircase.
The orchestra stopped playing.
A violinist lowered his instrument.
Someone dropped a champagne glass, and the crash sounded like a gunshot against the polished marble.
Tomás looked toward the second floor.
Then he looked at Carlota.
"What's going on upstairs?"
Carlota swallowed.
"Probably one of the staff members."
"Why would a staff member be screaming?"
"I don't know, Tomás."
Her voice sharpened.
"Why are you asking me?"
Before he could respond, a tall man in a charcoal suit appeared near the entrance to the grand staircase.
His name was Eduardo Salinas.
He was Carlota's older brother.
For the past eighteen months, he had served as Tomás's financial adviser.
Eduardo was forty-two, carefully groomed, and always carried himself with the confidence of a man who believed everyone had a price.
He descended three steps before noticing the crowd.
Then he stopped.
"Everything's under control," he announced.
"A guest became ill."
Tomás stared at him.
"What guest?"
Eduardo hesitated.
"A young woman."
"Her name?"
"I didn't ask."
"Then how do you know she's a guest?"
Eduardo glanced toward Carlota.
That glance lasted less than a second.
It was enough.
Tomás released Vega's hand and straightened.
"Open the upstairs rooms."
Eduardo forced a smile.
"There's no reason to interrupt your own charity event over a misunderstanding."
"Open them."
"Tomás—"
"Now."
The command was quiet.
But the authority behind it cut through the entire ballroom.
Eduardo stepped aside.
"I'll have security check."
"No."
Tomás turned toward his head of security, Rafael Ortega, who stood near the ballroom entrance.
"Rafael, come with me."
Rafael was fifty-six, broad-shouldered, and had worked for the Valdés family for almost twenty years.
He had once served alongside Tomás's father during a diplomatic security assignment.
There were few people Tomás trusted more.
"Yes, sir."
Carlota stepped between them.
"Darling, please."
Tomás looked at her.
"Move."
Her eyes widened.
"You cannot be serious."
"A woman is screaming upstairs, and a child just told me someone is crying behind a locked door."
Carlota lowered her voice.
"You're embarrassing me."
Tomás stared at her.
"Someone may need help, and you're worried about being embarrassed?"
For the first time that evening, Carlota had no answer.
Lucía was already holding Vega against her chest.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Valdés," she said.
"I never meant for this to happen."
He turned toward her.
"You have nothing to apologize for."
Then he looked at Vega.
"Sweetheart, can you tell me which room you saw?"
Vega nodded.
"The room with the moon."
Tomás frowned.
"The moon?"
"A gold moon on the door."
He knew exactly which room she meant.
The old nursery.
It had been his daughter's favorite room.
His daughter, Inés.
She would have been nine years old now.
But she had died in a car accident with his first wife, Elena, six years earlier.
At least, that was what the official report had said.
Tomás felt an unexpected ache beneath his ribs.
He hadn't entered that nursery in years.
"Rafael," he said.
"Get the master key."
They climbed the staircase.
Eduardo followed.
Carlota followed even more slowly.
Behind them, several guests gathered near the bottom steps, whispering.
Lucía remained in the ballroom with Vega.
Or she tried to.
But Vega began squirming.
"Mommy."
"Not now, honey."
"The crying lady needs her baby."
Lucía closed her eyes.
She wanted this nightmare to end.
She needed this job.
Rent was due in four days.
Her refrigerator contained half a carton of milk, three eggs, and a container of leftover rice.
She couldn't afford to offend a millionaire's wife.
And she certainly couldn't afford to be accused of stealing or trespassing.
But she knew her daughter.
Vega sometimes mixed up words.
She sometimes called yesterday tomorrow.
She occasionally insisted the moon was following their bus.
But she didn't invent complicated stories for attention.
And when she said she had seen something, she usually had.
Lucía knelt.
"Baby, tell Mommy exactly what happened."
Vega glanced toward the staircase.
"The green lady went upstairs."
"Okay."
"Her tummy was big."
Lucía nodded.
"Then it wasn't."
Lucía felt a cold sensation spread through her body.
"What do you mean?"
"She took it off."
"How?"
Vega placed both hands beneath her cardigan and pretended to pull something away from her stomach.
"Like this."
Lucía stared.
"And then?"
"She put it in the bag."
"What bag?"
"The blue one with the bird."
Lucía remembered seeing Carlota carrying a small blue garment bag earlier that afternoon.
At the time, she had assumed it contained an evening shawl.
Vega continued.
"Then the man said the other lady was making too much noise."
"What man?"
"The man with the shiny shoes."
Eduardo.
Lucía looked up sharply.
"And what did the other lady say?"
Vega's bottom lip trembled.
"She said, 'Please don't take my baby.'"
Lucía gathered her daughter into her arms.
A terrible possibility was beginning to form in her mind.
Upstairs, Tomás reached the nursery.
The gold crescent moon still hung above the pale blue door.
He remembered installing it himself when Inés was born.
He remembered Elena standing beside him, laughing as he struggled to get the screws straight.
For six years, that door had remained closed.
Now someone had been inside.
There was a fresh scratch near the lock.
And a muddy footprint on the carpet.
Rafael inserted the master key.
It wouldn't turn.
"That's strange," he muttered.
Tomás looked at Eduardo.
"Who changed the lock?"
Eduardo shrugged.
"Maintenance, maybe."
"Without my permission?"
"Tomás, you own twelve hotels and three private estates."
"Answer the question."
Eduardo's smile vanished.
"I don't know."
Rafael removed a small tool from his pocket.
The lock clicked thirty seconds later.
The door swung inward.
The nursery smelled of lavender and furniture polish.
The antique dolls remained arranged on their shelves.
The little wooden bed stood beneath the window.
A music box sat on the dresser.
At first glance, everything seemed untouched.
Then Tomás saw the white box.
It was exactly where Vega had said.
Beneath the doll bed.
He bent down and pulled it out.
Carlota appeared in the doorway.
"Don't open that."
Tomás slowly turned.
"Why?"
"It's private."
"Whose?"
"Mine."
He stared at the box.
It was sealed with clear tape.
There was no label.
No address.
Just a handwritten number in black ink.
47\.
Tomás peeled away the tape.
Inside lay a folded medical gown, a woman's silver necklace, a small packet of medication, and a photograph.
He lifted the photograph.
A young woman stood beside a hospital bed, smiling weakly while holding a newborn baby wrapped in a white blanket.
The woman looked no older than twenty-five.
Tomás had never seen her before.
But he recognized something else.
The blanket.
A tiny blue embroidered bird decorated one corner.
He looked toward Carlota.
"Who is this?"
She said nothing.
Eduardo stepped forward.
"That's enough."
Rafael immediately blocked him.
Tomás examined the back of the photograph.
Someone had written a date.
September 14.
Five weeks earlier.
Underneath were four words.
Please bring her home.
Tomás's blood ran cold.
He looked toward the adjoining room.
The door was locked from the outside.
"Rafael."
"Yes, sir?"
"Open it."
Carlota suddenly shouted.
"NO!"
May you like
And from the other side of the door, a woman's weak voice whispered:
"Please... don't let them take my daughter."
