Teresa leaned forward, choosing her words with extreme caution. “Marina, you mentioned the orphanage in Puebla. Do you know anything about how you arrived there? Did the administrators ever give you any details about who brought you in?”
Marina shook her head slowly. “The paperwork was very sparse. They told me I was left in a basket near the rear entrance during a heavy storm. There was no note, just a small silver bracelet with no name on it, which was stolen from me years later. The registry simply noted the date: September fourteenth.”
Teresa gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. September fourteenth was the exact date her daughter had supposedly passed away. The room seemed to tilt. The timeline fit perfectly. The clinic in Polanco was less than a three-hour drive from Puebla. If someone had taken the child instead of burying her, it would have happened on that exact night.
Before Teresa could speak, her house phone rang sharply, shattering the heavy silence of the study. She frowned, checking the caller ID. It was an unknown, encrypted number. She picked it up, pressing it to her ear.
“Teresa,” a voice echoed through the line, cold and sickeningly familiar. It was Rogelio.
“Why are you calling me?” Teresa asked, her voice instantly hardening. “We haven’t spoken since the settlement papers were finalized.”
“I see you’ve taken in a guest,” Rogelio said, a low, cruel chuckle vibrating through the receiver. “A rather expensive hobby, picking up beggars from the streets of San Ángel. But then again, you always did have a soft heart for lost causes.”
Teresa’s blood ran cold. She stood up, walking toward the window that faced the front gates. “How do you know who is in my house?”
“Let’s just say an associate of mine, a young man named Iván, has been keeping a very close eye on that girl for months. He knew she had a certain look about her. He did some digging into old medical records, found some very interesting discrepancies from twenty-two years ago, and brought the information to me. I must admit, I was shocked to find out my old friend the clinic director didn’t actually cremate the medical waste like he said he did. He simply sold the problem to a fixer in Puebla.”
Teresa felt the room spin. “What are you saying, Rogelio?”
“I’m saying that the girl sitting in your study is worth a lot of money to both of us, Teresa. I have the original birth certificates, the falsified death records, and the DNA profile from the hospital archive. If the public finds out that the great Teresa Alcázar’s ex-husband faked his own daughter’s death to avoid a messy custody battle and secure a larger share of the family trust, it will ruin me. But if you want the paperwork that proves she is yours legally, it will cost you fifty percent of your shares in the hotel group.”
Teresa looked back at Marina, who was watching her with wide, frightened eyes, sensing the tension in the room. The truth was out, wrapped in blackmail and malice, but the truth was finally alive.
“You won’t get a single cent,” Teresa whispered into the phone, her voice steadying with a fierce, maternal rage she hadn’t felt in over two decades. “I don’t need your papers to know who she is. And if you or Iván come near her again, I will spend every peso I own to ensure you both rot in a federal cell.”
She slammed the phone down, turning back to the girl who sat trembling in the chair. Teresa walked over, sinking to her knees right in front of Marina, taking both of her cold hands into her own.
“Marina,” Teresa said, tears finally spilling over her cheeks. “You asked me earlier why I brought you here. It wasn’t charity. Twenty-two years ago, a piece of my heart was stolen from me. Tonight, she walked right back into my life.”
