Chapter 2 - The Man Isabel Feared
Matthew's house sat behind iron gates outside Boston, surrounded by trees, stone walls, and enough security cameras to make the place feel less like a mansion and more like a private government facility.
I stood in the entrance hall dripping rainwater onto polished marble.
A woman in a black uniform approached with a medical kit.
“Sit.”
I looked at Matthew.
“She won't hurt you.”
The woman glanced at my bare feet.
“I'm guessing someone already did.”
She cleaned the cuts.
I barely felt it.
My mind was somewhere else.
“My father.”
Matthew stood across the room, staring at the fire.
“Daniel Vargas.”
“Yes.”
“What did he have to do with you?”
Matthew didn't answer.
“Please.”
He finally looked at me.
“Your father and I were partners.”
I laughed bitterly.
“My father owned construction companies. You…”
“You mean the things the newspapers say?”
I nodded.
Matthew's mouth tightened.
“I control logistics, shipping, private security, and several businesses that don't appear under my name.”
“In other words, you're a criminal.”
“Yes.”
The simple admission stunned me.
He wasn't defending himself.
He wasn't pretending.
“You’re a mafia boss.”
He looked at me.
“That's the word.”
I wrapped his coat tighter around myself.
“Then why help me?”
“Because your father once helped me.”
“How?”
“Twenty years ago, I was twenty-two. I had no money, no influence, and a brother who needed surgery. Your father put money in an envelope and told me never to repay him.”
“What happened?”
“I repaid him anyway.”
“With what?”
“My loyalty.”
The room fell silent.
Matthew's phone rang.
He answered.
“Talk.”
Pause.
“Are you certain?”
Another pause.
“Bring it to me.”
He hung up.
“What?”
He looked at me.
“The men who chased us were hired through one of Isabel's companies.”
My stomach dropped.
“So she knew you were coming.”
“Yes.”
“Then why call you?”
“Because she wanted me to take you.”
“Why?”
Matthew walked toward me.
“That is what we're going to discover.”
He placed a folder on the table.
Inside were photographs of my father's old company.
Vargas Development.
The company had once been worth nearly four hundred million dollars.
Now it was drowning.
Debt.
Lawsuits.
Missing assets.
But one photograph caught my attention.
My father.
Standing beside Matthew.
And beside them was Isabel.
Young.
Beautiful.
Smiling.
I had never seen that photograph.
“When was this taken?”
“Three weeks before your father's death.”
I looked at him.
“You knew Isabel before she married him.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“She worked for him.”
My heart pounded.
“So she didn't just become my stepmother.”
“No.”
“She had been part of the company.”
“Yes.”
I stared at the photograph.
“Then why did my father marry her?”
Matthew's face became unreadable.
“Because he trusted her.”
That answer hurt.
My father had trusted few people.
He adored me.
At least, I had believed he did.
He had promised that one day, Vargas Development would be mine.
Then he died.
And Isabel became guardian.
She sold the family house.
She moved us into the city.
She slowly replaced my father's employees with her own.
By twenty-one, I had almost no connection to the company.
Then came tonight.
The room.
Ambrose.
The necklace.
The locked door.
The slap.
I touched my cheek.
Matthew noticed.
His voice became cold.
“Who hit you?”
“Isabel.”
He looked toward his security chief.
“Find her.”
The man nodded.
I stared.
“Don't kill her.”
Matthew looked at me.
“I didn't say I would.”
“You looked like you wanted to.”
“I did.”
The honesty frightened me.
But it also made me feel safe.
A doctor arrived.
After examining me, she said I had bruising, dehydration, and a mild concussion from the fall.
I was given dry clothes.
A sweater.
Sweatpants.
A room.
But sleep never came.
At 4:30 a.m., I walked downstairs.
Matthew was in his study.
He was holding a document.
“You should be sleeping.”
“I can't.”
He nodded.
He had expected that.
“What is it?”
He turned the paper toward me.
A contract.
My name was at the bottom.
Elena Vargas.
My signature appeared beneath a clause transferring my inheritance rights to Isabel.
I stared.
“I never signed this.”
“I know.”
“That's my signature.”
“Forgery.”
“Who did it?”
He looked at me.
“Your stepmother.”
I sat down.
“My father left me shares?”
“Control of the original Vargas trust.”
“What trust?”
Matthew's eyes hardened.
“The one worth more than everything Isabel currently owns.”
The room seemed to spin.
“How much?”
“About two hundred million dollars.”
I laughed.
It was too absurd.
“I don't have two hundred million dollars.”
“Not directly.”
“Then where is it?”
“Hidden.”
“By whom?”
“Your father.”
My heart pounded.
“Why?”
“Because he knew someone would try to take it.”
“Who?”
Matthew closed the folder.
“We're going to find out.”
He stood.
Then his phone rang again.
This time he answered on speaker.
A distorted voice came through.
“Mr. Carranza.”
Matthew's face changed.
“What do you want?”
“Your protection.”
“From what?”
“From Isabel.”
I stood.
The voice continued.
“She is going to kill Elena.”
Matthew's gaze moved to me.
“Who is this?”
“Someone who already knows where the first body is buried.”
The line went dead.
I whispered, “Whose body?”
May you like
Matthew looked at the clock.
“Your father's.”
