The Investigator
PART 3: "The Investigator"
Emiliano made the call at 1 AM from the monitoring room.
The person he called was not a lawyer. Not the police. Not a therapist, although he probably needed one.
He called a woman named Vera Santos.
Vera was fifty-three years old. She ran a private investigation firm in Stamford that specialized in what she called "domestic intelligence" — the polite term for the work of figuring out whether the person sleeping next to you is who they say they are.
Emiliano didn't know Vera personally. Carlos did. Carlos recommended her because Carlos had been suspicious of Patricia for months and had been waiting for Emiliano to ask.
He never asked. So Carlos never told. Because Carlos understood the hierarchy of a billionaire's household: the head of security protects the principal from external threats. When the threat is internal — when the threat shares the principal's bed — the head of security waits for permission to act.
Tonight, the permission came.
"I need a full background on Patricia Molina," Emiliano said. "Everything. Before she met me. Before she came to this city. Before she became the person she is now."
Vera didn't ask why. She asked: "How fast?"
"Forty-eight hours."
"That's fast for a deep background."
"I have two daughters in a house with a woman I don't trust anymore. Forty-eight hours is already too slow."
Vera took the job.
---
While Vera worked, Emiliano did something he'd never done before.
He watched his own house.
Not from the monitoring room. Carlos convinced him to leave — "You haven't slept in twenty hours, sir. The cameras record everything. You can review it tomorrow."
Emiliano moved to the pool house — a separate structure at the back of the property that hadn't been used since Andrea died. He slept on the couch with his phone on his chest, the camera feeds streaming live to an app that Carlos installed.
He watched Rosa make breakfast at 6:30 AM. Watched her lay out the girls' school uniforms. Watched her braid Martina's hair with the concentration of someone performing microsurgery, because Martina's hair was fine and tangled easily and Rosa had learned to work through the knots without pulling.
He watched Patricia come downstairs at 8 AM in a silk robe, pour herself coffee, and sit at the kitchen island without acknowledging the girls.
Not ignoring them exactly. Coexisting with them. The way you coexist with furniture.
He watched Rosa walk the girls to the car where the driver waited. Watched Daniela look back at the house before getting in, scanning the windows, looking for something. Looking for someone.
Looking for him.
His daughter was looking for him and he was hiding in a pool house watching her on a phone screen.
---
Vera called back in thirty-one hours. Not forty-eight. Thirty-one.
"You need to hear this in person," she said.
She came to the pool house at 10 PM, entering through the same service gate Emiliano used. She carried a laptop and a folder that was three inches thick.
Vera sat across from Emiliano at the small table where Andrea used to do crossword puzzles on Sunday mornings. She opened the folder.
"Patricia Molina is not her real name."
Emiliano didn't move.
"Her birth name is Patricia Vega. She changed it legally eight years ago, after her first marriage ended."
"She told me she was never married."
"She was married twice. The first husband was a real estate developer in Phoenix named Alan Cross. They married in 2015, divorced in 2017. During the divorce proceedings, Cross accused Patricia of emotional abuse toward his daughter from a previous marriage — an eight-year-old girl named Sophie."
Emiliano's hands tightened on the armrest of the chair.
"The accusations were dropped when Cross settled the divorce for two million dollars. Patricia walked away with the money and a non-disclosure agreement that prevented Cross from speaking about what happened."
"What happened to Sophie?"
"Sophie is sixteen now. She lives with her father in Phoenix. I spoke to her."
Vera paused. The pause of a woman who has been doing this job for twenty-two years and who still needs a moment before delivering the worst part.
"Sophie told me that Patricia would be kind when her father was present and cruel when he was gone. She said Patricia would take her toys, isolate her from the household staff, tell her father that Sophie was 'difficult' and 'manipulative.' She said Patricia once locked her in her bedroom for four hours because Sophie spilled juice on the carpet."
Emiliano closed his eyes.
"The pattern is identical, Mr. Duarte. A wealthy man. Children from a previous relationship. A woman who positions herself as the loving partner while systematically terrorizing the children and eliminating anyone who gets in the way — nannies, housekeepers, family friends."
"And the second marriage?"
Vera turned a page.
"Michael Torres. Widower. Pharmaceutical executive in Chicago. Two sons, ages seven and eleven. Patricia married him in 2019. The marriage lasted fourteen months. During that time, both boys' grades dropped, their pediatrician noted behavioral changes consistent with chronic stress, and their longtime nanny was fired after Patricia accused her of theft."
"Was the nanny stealing?"
"No. The nanny — a woman named Gloria Reyes — filed a wrongful termination claim. During the proceedings, Gloria testified that Patricia verbally abused the children when Torres was at work and that she — Gloria — was fired because she confronted Patricia about it."
"What happened to the claim?"
"Patricia settled. Another NDA. Another payout. Torres divorced her six months later. By then, his sons were in therapy."
Emiliano opened his eyes.
Two families. Two sets of children. Two nannies or housekeepers fired or forced out. The same script, performed in different houses with different actors but the same director.
"She's done this before," Emiliano said.
"She's a specialist," Vera said. "She targets wealthy men with children. She removes the people who protect the children. She isolates the children. And she uses the relationship with the father to secure financial control."
"How much did she get from Torres?"
"Three million in the divorce settlement."
"And she came to me next."
"You're worth three billion, Mr. Duarte. Patricia isn't looking for a settlement. She's looking for a dynasty."
---
Emiliano sat in the pool house for a long time after Vera left.
He thought about Daniela flinching. About Martina's rabbit being thrown across the room. About Rosa standing in the doorway with a dish towel.
About Patricia whispering "she's stealing from you" across the dinner table with the same mouth that told his daughters to do what she said "the first time."
He picked up his phone. Not to call a lawyer. Not yet.
He opened the camera app. Scrolled to the feed from the upstairs hallway. Time-stamped 8:47 PM — twenty minutes ago.
Rosa was walking past the master bedroom.
Patricia's door was closed.
Rosa stopped. Looked at the door. Then looked directly at the camera.
She looked at the camera.
Not by accident. Not a coincidental glance. Rosa looked at the hallway camera with the steady, deliberate gaze of someone who knows exactly where the camera is and who wants whoever is watching to see what she's about to do.
She reached into the pocket of her uniform. Pulled out a small black notebook. Held it up to the camera for three seconds.
Then she put it back in her pocket and walked away.
Emiliano stared at the screen.
Rosa knew about the cameras.
Rosa had a notebook.
And Rosa had just told him, without a single word, that she had evidence of her own.
---
May you like
Keep reading Part 4 — because the notebook Rosa holds up to the camera isn't a diary. It's a record. Six months of dates, times, and descriptions of everything Patricia did to Daniela and Martina when Emiliano wasn't home. And the person Rosa was planning to give it to wasn't Emiliano. It was someone else. Someone Patricia is terrified of.
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