“Good,” Patricia said, letting go of her chin. “Now go inside and clean the master bathroom.”

The audio cut out as Patricia walked out of the camera’s frame.

The room was completely silent.

My father sat perfectly still, his eyes fixed on the frozen image of Rosa weeping alone on her stool.

His face was dark, the muscles in his jaw tight.

“She threatened her,” I whispered, my voice trembling with anger. “She used Rosa’s family against her.”

“She has been doing this for months,” my father said, his voice barely audible.

He leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the console so hard his knuckles turned white.

“Keep playing the footage, Ramiro,” he said.

“I want to see every single interaction they had.”

Ramiro hit the play button again.

As the footage continued to roll, a small red light began to flash on the main security console.

It was the sensor for the master bedroom suite upstairs.

The door was opening again.

Rain beat against the high, narrow window of the basement security room.

The air in the concrete bunker smelled of dust and warm electronics.