Chapter 3: The Room Without Windows
The first thing I learned inside Mateo Vargas’s mansion was that wealth could be more frightening than poverty.
Poverty left nothing to hide behind.
Wealth had walls.
Tall ones.
Iron gates.
Armed men.
Cameras tucked beneath eaves.
Doors that locked from the outside.
The mansion looked beautiful from the driveway, but beauty meant very little when you were brought somewhere against your will.
A guard opened the SUV door.
“Inside.””
I didn't move.
My hand tightened around the burlap sack containing my bottles.
Vargas stood several feet away, speaking quietly with another man. He looked completely different now that he wasn't standing in the river. His wet shirt had been replaced by a dark suit, his hair combed back, his expression controlled.
Only his eyes had changed.
They kept returning to me.
Watching.
Measuring.
As if he were trying to decide whether I was a child who needed protection or a secret that needed to be hidden.
I stepped out.
A woman in a gray dress approached from the main entrance.
She was probably in her fifties, with silver hair pulled neatly behind her head.
Her eyes landed on my dirty clothes.
Then my bare feet.
Then my face.
She looked startled.
“Is this him?””
Vargas nodded.
“Yes.””
She stared at me for another second.
Then she whispered something in Spanish that I couldn't catch.
“What?”” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Nothing.””
She turned and walked inside.
Vargas followed.
I remained where I was.
“You said I could leave.””
“I said you're safer here.””
“That isn't the same thing.””
He looked over his shoulder.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “Come.””
I followed him through the front doors.
The entry hall was bigger than the entire building where my grandmother and I had lived.
A chandelier hung from the ceiling.
Paintings lined the walls.
A staircase curved upward like something from a movie.
I felt like dirt had followed me inside.
I glanced down.
Mud covered my legs.
My shirt had a tear along the shoulder.
Water dripped from my hair onto the polished floor.
I tried to wipe it with my sleeve.
The silver-haired woman noticed.
“Don't worry about the floor.””
Vargas looked at her.
“Is the room ready?””
“Yes.””
“What room?””
She hesitated.
“The west room.””
I looked at Vargas.
“I don't need a room.””
“You do tonight.””
“Why?””
“Because the people looking for you now know you exist.””
I wanted to argue.
Instead, I remembered the bullet striking the railing.
The sound still rang inside my head.
Vargas turned toward the staircase.
“Come.””
We climbed two flights.
At the end of a hallway, he opened a door.
Inside was a bedroom.
A real bedroom.
There was a bed with white sheets.
A private bathroom.
Clean clothes folded on a chair.
A pair of new shoes beside the bed.
I stared.
“They're yours,” Vargas said.
I touched the fabric of the shirt.
Soft.
Perfect.
“I don't want them.””
“Why?””
“Because I can't pay you.””
“You don't owe me anything.””
That made me look at him.
“Everybody wants something.””
He didn't answer.
I walked into the room.
There were no windows.
I noticed immediately.
My grandmother had always told me never to sleep in a room without knowing how to escape it.
I turned.
“Where is the window?””
“There isn't one.””
“Why?””
“Security.””
I looked at the door.
“Does it lock?””
“Yes.””
“From inside?””
He paused.
“Yes.””
I wasn't sure I believed him.
He started to leave.
“Wait.””
He stopped.
“You said my father is alive.””
“Yes.””
“Who is he?””
Vargas's face became unreadable.
“A man named Gabriel Mendoza.””
My stomach turned.
“My last name is Mendoza.””
“So is his.””
“What does he do?””
“Nothing legal.””
I stared at him.
“Is he dangerous?””
Vargas gave me a long look.
“Yes.””
“Then why would he be searching for me?””
“Because you belong to him.””
“I don't belong to anybody.””
Something flickered in Vargas's eyes.
“Good.””
He closed the door.
The lock clicked.
I immediately walked over and tested the handle.
It opened.
I exhaled.
Then I noticed something on the desk.
A small black box.
My heart stopped.
I knew that box.
Or one just like it.
It was the same metal case I had seen beneath my grandmother's blanket during the last weeks of her life.
I rushed toward it.
My hands trembled as I lifted the lid.
Empty.
Only a folded piece of paper remained inside.
My name was written across it.
Aurelio.
I unfolded it.
The handwriting was my grandmother's.
My breath caught.
There were only six words.
Do not trust Mateo, no matter what.
I read them twice.
Then a third time.
Someone knocked.
I shoved the paper into my pocket.
The door opened.
The silver-haired woman entered carrying food.
“Eat.””
I looked at the tray.
Soup.
Bread.
Rice.
Chicken.
Fruit.
It was more food than I had seen in weeks.
I sat.
She placed the tray beside me.
“You're Esperanza's grandson.””
I nodded.
“My name is Elena.””
“You knew my grandmother?””
Elena looked toward the hallway.
“Everyone who worked for Señor Vargas knew Esperanza.””
“What was she to him?””
Elena's face tightened.
“That is not my story to tell.””
“She wrote this.””
I pulled the note from my pocket.
Elena's face changed instantly.
She grabbed my wrist.
“Where did you get that?””
“In this room.””
Her eyes darted toward the box.
“You must give that to Señor Vargas.””
“No.””
“You don't understand.””
“I understand enough.””
She lowered her voice.
“Listen to me. Your grandmother was not an ordinary woman.””
“I know.””
“No, you don't.””
Elena sat across from me.
“When she came here twenty-three years ago, she was running from something.””
“My father?””
Elena hesitated.
“Among other things.””
“What happened?””
She looked toward the door again.
“I shouldn't say.””
“Please.””
She closed her eyes.
“Esperanza was once engaged to Gabriel Mendoza.””
My heartbeat quickened.
“Then why did they split up?””
“Because Gabriel became obsessed with power.””
“What kind of power?””
“The kind that destroys people.””
Elena's voice dropped.
“Your grandmother discovered that Gabriel was working with men who controlled the port. Men who moved weapons, money, drugs.””
I stared at her.
“But why did she stay with him?””
“She didn't.””
Elena folded her hands tightly.
“When Esperanza discovered she was pregnant, Gabriel wanted the child raised within his family.””
I swallowed.
“She refused.””
“She ran.””
“And my mother?””
Elena looked at me with something close to pity.
“Your mother ran with her.””
I stared at the floor.
The pieces were finally beginning to form a picture.
But there was one piece that didn't fit.
“Then why did Vargas say my mother might still be alive?””
Elena looked startled.
“He told you that?””
“Yes.””
“Then perhaps he knows more than I thought.””
I stood.
“Where is my mother?””
“I don't know.””
“You're lying.””
“I am not.””
“You knew my grandmother.””
“Yes.””
“You worked for Vargas.””
“Yes.””
“You must know.””
Elena's face hardened.
“I know what I was told.””
“What were you told?””
“That your mother died.””
“But Vargas says—”
“I said that is what I was told.””
There was fear in her eyes now.
Real fear.
She stood.
“You should eat.””
I grabbed her arm.
“Wait.””
She froze.
“Who is the third man?””
“What third man?””
“My father. Vargas said three men knew where my grandmother was.””
Elena slowly removed my hand.
Her expression became hollow.
“Children should not have to learn these things.””
“I am not a child.””
She looked at my bruised feet.
“Yes, you are.””
Then she walked out.
The door closed.
I stared at the food.
I wasn't hungry anymore.
My grandmother had lied.
Vargas had lied.
Elena had lied.
And somewhere in the middle of all those lies was the truth.
I searched the room.
The desk.
The closet.
Under the bed.
Nothing.
Then I noticed the wall beside the bed.
There was a painting.
A woman standing beside the ocean.
I moved closer.
The frame looked old.
I touched the edge.
It shifted.
Behind it was a narrow safe.
My heart started pounding.
I looked at the door.
No footsteps.
I pressed the numbers that came naturally to me.
My grandmother's birthday.
Nothing.
My birthday.
Nothing.
The date she died.
The safe clicked.
I froze.
It opened.
Inside was a photograph.
A passport.
And a small silver pendant.
I picked up the photograph first.
It showed my grandmother holding a baby.
Me.
I recognized the blanket.
But there was someone else standing behind her.
A man.
Young.
Dark-haired.
His hand rested on my grandmother's shoulder.
I turned the photograph over.
On the back was a name.
Gabriel.
Beneath it were four words.
He must never find him.
I stared at the photograph.
Then at the passport.
The picture inside belonged to a woman.
A woman with my grandmother's eyes.
The name on the document made my hands go numb.
Isabella Mendoza.
My mother.
The passport had been issued only eight months earlier.
Eight months ago.
Which meant—
She could still be alive.
The door handle suddenly moved.
I shoved everything back into the safe.
The painting barely covered it.
The door opened.
Mateo Vargas stood there.
His eyes immediately went to the wall.
Then to me.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
He slowly closed the door behind him.
“What did you find?””
“Nothing.””
He walked closer.
“Aurelio.””
I said nothing.
He reached into his coat and pulled out the photograph of my mother.
The same photograph I'd just seen.
He held it between us.
“You deserve the truth.””
I looked at him.
“Then tell me.””
He studied my face.
“Your mother is alive.””
My breath stopped.
“Where?””
“She was alive eight months ago.””
“What happened eight months ago?””
Vargas didn't answer.
“Where is she now?””
He looked toward the painting.
“Someone took her.””
“Who?””
His jaw tightened.
“Your father.””
I stared at him.
“You said you didn't know where she was.””
“I said I didn't know where she was now.””
“Then you knew she was alive.””
“Yes.””
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“Because knowing that can get you killed.””
Anger replaced fear.
“You don't get to decide what I know!””
Vargas's expression hardened.
“I decided because your grandmother asked me to.””
That silenced me.
He stepped closer.
“She made me promise that if Gabriel ever found you, I would protect you.””
“Why should I believe you?””
“Because I failed her once.””
He looked away.
His voice became quieter.
“I won't fail her twice.””
Before I could respond, a phone rang.
Not his.
Mine.
I stared at the old, battered phone Elena had returned to me.
A number flashed across the screen.
Unknown.
I answered.
“Hello?””
Static.
Then a man's voice.
Low.
Calm.
Terrifyingly familiar.
“Aurelio?””
I couldn't speak.
Vargas saw my expression.
“Who is it?””
The stranger breathed softly into the phone.
“I've been waiting twelve years to hear your voice.””
My hand went cold.
“Who are you?””
A pause.
Then—
“I'm your father.””
The line went dead.
Vargas grabbed the phone from my hand.
His face had gone completely pale.
For the first time since I met him, Mateo Vargas looked afraid.
And that was when I understood something far worse than anything he had told me.
May you like
My father had found me.
And he had known where I was all along.
