Chapter 9 - THE DOCTOR WHO SIGNED THE DEATH CERTIFICATE
Dr. Álvaro Serrano lived in a beautiful house behind high stone walls in the hills outside Valencia.
For twenty-three years, he had been considered one of the region's most respected obstetricians.
He gave interviews about maternal health.
Donated money to children's hospitals.
Attended charity dinners.
And appeared regularly in photographs beside Carlota Mendoza.
By the time Inspector Ferrer reached his home the following morning, the doctor was gone.
His housekeeper said he had left shortly before dawn.
He took one suitcase.
His laptop.
And a locked silver briefcase.
He hadn't told her where he was going.
At eight-thirty, Ferrer called Tomás.
"We can't locate him."
Tomás stood beside the kitchen window, still wearing yesterday's shirt.
He had not slept.
"Can you trace his phone?"
"We're working on it."
"His bank accounts?"
"We're pursuing the appropriate orders."
"His car?"
"Also."
Tomás closed his eyes.
"Inspector, if my daughter is alive—"
"I know."
Her voice softened.
"We understand what's at stake."
After the call, Tomás sat at the kitchen table.
A breakfast tray remained untouched beside him.
The mansion was quiet.
He had sent most of the household staff home.
He couldn't bear the thought of strangers walking through the halls while he waited for news.
Rafael entered carrying a folder.
"I found something."
Tomás looked up.
"What?"
"The investigator I hired six years ago."
Tomás sat straighter.
"You found him?"
"Not exactly."
Rafael placed the folder on the table.
"His name was Miguel Santos."
Tomás remembered.
A former police detective.
Fifty years old.
Divorced.
Known for refusing to abandon difficult cases.
"What happened to him?"
"Officially, he moved abroad."
"Unofficially?"
Rafael opened the folder.
"His daughter says he was threatened."
Tomás stared.
"By whom?"
"She doesn't know."
"What did he tell her?"
"That he had discovered something about your family's accident."
Tomás leaned forward.
"And?"
"That he was afraid."
Rafael turned a page.
"Two days before disappearing, Miguel mailed a letter to his daughter."
Tomás stared at the photocopy.
It contained only a few lines.
If anyone asks about the accident, tell them to find the woman who survived.
There were two little girls that night.
One was taken.
One was buried.
Tomás's mouth went dry.
He read the words again.
Two little girls.
One taken.
One buried.
"What does that mean?"
Rafael shook his head.
"I don't know."
Tomás stared at the paper.
His daughter had been three when the accident happened.
What if another child had been in the vehicles?
What if the medical records had been deliberately switched?
What if the child buried as Inés had belonged to someone else?
He pushed the folder away.
The thought was unbearable.
Because somewhere, another family might have suffered a different tragedy.
And he had never even known.
"Does Ferrer have this?"
"Yes."
Tomás nodded slowly.
"Good."
Then another question occurred to him.
"Why would Carlota hide a photograph of Inés inside the nursery?"
Rafael sat opposite him.
"Maybe she was keeping proof."
"Of what?"
"That your daughter survived."
"Why?"
Rafael hesitated.
"Leverage."
Tomás looked away.
Leverage.
His wife.
His daughter.
His entire life.
Reduced to a business transaction.
He suddenly remembered a conversation from three months earlier.
Carlota had approached him about restructuring the family trust.
She claimed the documents needed to be updated before their baby was born.
Tomás had resisted.
The trust had been established by his father.
It protected shares in the hotel company and certain properties for future descendants.
Carlota had insisted that their unborn daughter should be named as a beneficiary immediately.
He had agreed to review the proposal.
But he hadn't signed it.
Then, two weeks earlier, Eduardo had raised the subject again.
Tomás stood abruptly.
"Rafael."
"Yes?"
"Get my attorney."
"Why?"
"The family trust."
Rafael frowned.
"What about it?"
"Carlota wanted to change it."
"When?"
"Recently."
Tomás began pacing.
"She said she was worried about our baby's future."
Rafael stared.
"But there was no baby."
"Exactly."
Tomás stopped.
"Why would she need the trust changed before the child was born?"
Rafael considered the question.
Then his expression darkened.
"Unless the paperwork mattered more than the baby."
Tomás nodded.
"And unless she knew something about the original beneficiary."
Inés.
Under the trust, his first daughter would have inherited a protected ownership interest on her eighteenth birthday.
Her death had changed the structure.
Carlota's supposed pregnancy had created an opportunity to reopen it.
And Eduardo controlled much of the financial paperwork.
Tomás reached for his phone.
His attorney answered on the second ring.
"Tomás?"
"Daniel, I need the complete history of every proposed amendment to the family trust."
"What happened?"
"Send everything."
"Is this about Carlota?"
"Yes."
There was a pause.
Then Daniel said something unexpected.
"I was going to call you."
Tomás stopped moving.
"Why?"
"Because your wife submitted a notarized amendment three days ago."
Tomás stared.
"What amendment?"
"The one transferring certain voting rights to her as legal guardian of your child."
Tomás felt his blood run cold.
"I didn't sign anything."
Daniel went quiet.
May you like
Then:
"Tomás, your signature is on the document."
