Chapter 3 - A Photograph From Before the Fire
Mateo did not sleep.
At three in the morning, he sat inside the library with Elena’s photograph beneath a brass reading lamp.
Eleven years vanished every time he looked at it.
His sister had been five years younger than him and the only person in the Vargas family who had never been impressed by money.
When Mateo bought his first penthouse, Elena had asked whether loneliness looked better from the seventieth floor.
When Vargas Meridian passed ten billion dollars in valuation, she had mailed him a ten-dollar birthday card.
When Aurelio was born, she had made Mateo promise that the boy would never grow up believing wealth made him more important than anyone else.
Then she had died.
Or at least Mateo had believed everything important about that night had died with her.
Marcus entered quietly.
“You should sleep.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
Mateo turned the photograph over.
“You said Aurelio’s name was in a sealed annex.”
Marcus remained standing.
“Explain.”
“I was a Bellhaven detective when Blackridge burned.”
Mateo looked up sharply.
“You never told me you worked that scene.”
“I was twenty-nine. Junior investigator.”
“You told me you were assigned to financial crimes.”
“After Blackridge.”
Mateo’s voice hardened.
“What was in the annex?”
Marcus said nothing.
“Marcus.”
“The original first-response log listed two confirmed adult bodies.”
Mateo became still.
“And the child?”
“Missing.”
Mateo rose.
“The final report said three bodies were recovered.”
“Yes.”
“Did you see the third body?”
“No.”
“Who changed the report?”
“I don’t know.”
Mateo crossed the room.
“You’ve worked for me nine years.”
“I know.”
“You knew my nephew may not have been in that house.”
“I knew the first report was inconsistent.”
“That is not the same sentence.”
Marcus absorbed the anger.
“No, it isn’t.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because the detective who tried to challenge the report died six weeks later.”
Mateo’s anger faltered.
“Who?”
“My partner. Nolan Price.”
Mateo knew the name.
A Bellhaven detective killed in what newspapers had called a drunk-driving accident.
Marcus continued.
“Nolan copied part of the scene file. He believed the fire was deliberate. He believed someone with access to the sheriff’s office altered evidence.”
“And you?”
“I was twenty-nine with a wife and a baby. Nolan was dead.”
“So you stayed quiet.”
“Yes.”
Mateo looked disgusted.
Marcus did not defend himself.
“I have regretted it every day.”
A sound came from the doorway.
Aurelio stood barefoot in borrowed clothes.
He had heard enough.
“You knew?”
Marcus turned.
“Aurelio—”
“You knew I might be alive?”
“No. I knew the report was wrong.”
“That’s not better.”
“I know.”
Aurelio looked at Mateo.
“Everybody knew something except me.”
He walked away.
Mateo followed him into the hall.
“Aurelio.”
“Leave me alone.”
“I can’t.”
The boy spun around.
“Why? Because I might own something?”
Mateo stopped.
“What?”
“You rich people don’t look scared unless money’s involved.”
The observation landed harder than Mateo wanted to admit.
“I don’t know what you own.”
“But you’re going to find out.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because someone tried to erase you.”
Aurelio’s eyes flashed.
“And what if you helped them?”
Mateo stared at him.
The boy walked upstairs.
Later that morning, the answer to Aurelio’s question became more uncomfortable.
Mateo’s personal attorney, Rachel Kim, arrived carrying archived corporate records.
The Blackridge fire had occurred during a bitter restructuring of Vargas Meridian.
Mateo remembered the period.
His father, Rafael Vargas, had suffered a stroke.
The family company had nearly fractured.
Elena and Javier had opposed a massive riverfront acquisition called the Rivergate Project.
Sebastian Vargas—Mateo’s older half-brother—had supported it.
Mateo had been caught between them.
Rachel placed an old trust summary on the table.
“Your father amended the family trust six months before the fire.”
Mateo read.
Then read again.
Elena Vargas-Mendoza had owned thirty-seven percent of the family voting interest.
Upon her death, that interest would pass to her surviving child.
If no child survived, the shares reverted proportionally to Mateo and Sebastian.
Mateo looked sick.
“How much did I receive?”
“Eighteen-point-five percent.”
“And Sebastian?”
“The same.”
Marcus whistled softly.
Rachel continued.
“The trust also contains ownership rights to 1,900 acres along Rivergate.”
“Current value?”
“With redevelopment rights? Possibly four billion.”
Mateo closed the file.
Aurelio had been right.
Money was involved.
A great deal of it.
His phone rang.
Sebastian’s name appeared.
Mateo stared at it before answering.
“Sebastian.”
His brother’s voice was warm.
“I heard about your accident.”
“News travels fast.”
“You almost drowned?”
“I’m difficult to kill.”
Sebastian laughed.
Then said, casually, “Who was the boy?”
Mateo looked at Marcus.
The river rescue had not reached the media.
Not yet.
Mateo said nothing.
Sebastian continued.
“Mateo?”
“How do you know there was a boy?”
Silence.
A tiny pause.
Then Sebastian answered.
“Security told me.”
“Which security?”
Another pause.
Mateo’s eyes hardened.
Across the room, Aurelio had appeared on the stairs.
He was listening.
Sebastian changed the subject.
“Come to the estate tonight. We should talk.”
Mateo looked at his nephew.
Eleven years ago, three people had supposedly died at Blackridge.
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Now one had returned.
And Mateo suddenly wondered whether someone in his family had been waiting all those years to make certain the number stayed three.
