It took me a few seconds to understand. They weren’t looking for hidden money. They weren’t having an affair right in front of me. They were looking for my documents: the deed to the house I’d inherited from my father, my bank statements, my insurance file. The real reason for the pills hit me like a ton of bricks.
Lucía opened my bedside table and took out my laptop. “The password doesn’t work.”
“Try the date of your father’s death,” Javier said without hesitation.
My stomach clenched. He knew my passwords. He knew my routines. He knew my weaknesses. And suddenly, I also understood why, in recent months, he had insisted so much that I sign “unimportant” papers, why he wanted to sell the house, why he isolated me from my friends, saying that I was sensitive and confused.
Then Lucia said something that left me speechless.
“Once we’re finished with the transfer, you’ll have to admit her to the clinic. If she’s still here, she can find out.”
And at that moment, Javier responded with a coldness I had never heard from him before:
“If he doesn’t sign willingly tomorrow, we’ll make it look like an outbreak.”
Part 2