I had to make a superhuman effort not to sit up abruptly. My heart was pounding so hard I thought they could hear it. I remained motionless, breathing slowly, while they continued rummaging through my things. Javier pulled a blue folder from the back of the closet and let out a short laugh.
“Here it is,” he said.
Lucia approached immediately. “Is that the deed?”
“No, but it’s better,” he replied. “An old power of attorney, a copy of the life insurance policy, and the bank statements. With these, we can make a lot of progress.”
I didn’t know what hurt more: the fear or the humiliation. Javier hadn’t just been drugging me; he’d been plotting to take everything from me for some time. And Lucía, whom I’d helped financially more than once, was in deep trouble. I remembered little things that had previously seemed insignificant: calls that would drop as soon as I got on, family gatherings I was told not to attend because I “needed to rest,” strange activity on the joint account, and that comment Javier had made two weeks earlier: “Sometimes you don’t know what you’re doing when you’re so tired.” It wasn’t an observation. It was a rehearsal for his alibi.