The Vanishing of the Montero Heirs and the Law of Retribution
“Are you there?” she asked.
“I will be there in ten minutes,” I said. “Do not speak to anyone on the street.”
I ended the call and slipped the phone into my coat pocket.
I walked to the wooden table in the center of my small, temporary apartment.
My laptop sat open on the table, its screen casting a cold blue light across the dark room.
On the screen was a video file I had received an hour ago from my trusted contact in Segovia.
It was a twenty-second clip of my triplets.
They were sleeping peacefully under a yellow knitted blanket, their small chests rising and falling in perfect unison.
Beside them on the nightstand lay a copy of today’s *El País* newspaper, showing the date clearly.
They were safe, healthy, and hidden where Alvaro would never think to look.
I closed the laptop gently.
That video was my final card, the only leverage that could force Alvaro to surrender.
I had already drafted the transfer agreement that would strip him of his entire seventy percent stake in Horizonte Capital.