Chapter 7 - THE BLOODLINE
Alejandro laughed.
Once.
A sharp, disbelieving sound.
“Enough.”
Hector did not move.
“I’m telling you what I heard.”
“From whom?”
“Catalina.”
“When?”
“Twenty years ago.”
Alejandro stepped toward him.
“My father was Rafael Salazar.”
“I know.”
“Then stop.”
“I’m not saying Raymond was your father.”
“Good.”
“I’m saying Raymond thought he was.”
Alejandro looked sick.
I touched his arm.
This time he did not pull away.
Teresa leaned forward.
“I never heard that.”
Hector nodded.
“You weren’t supposed to.”
He told us about the night Catalina came to our old apartment.
I had been upstairs.
My mother had already vanished.
Hector was desperate and barely sleeping.
Catalina arrived wearing a white suit.
She brought cash.
“She said Elena had helped Rafael steal company records,” Hector said. “She told me dangerous people were searching for them.”
“Raymond,” Alejandro said.
“Yes.”
Hector rubbed his face.
“She kept talking about protecting families. Then she said Raymond had already destroyed Rafael because he threatened to expose everything.”
Alejandro went rigid.
“She said that?”
“Not in those exact words.”
“What did she say?”
Hector closed his eyes.
“She said, ‘Raymond has spent seventeen years cleaning up Rafael’s mistakes. He won’t let Rafael’s son destroy everything too.’”
Alejandro frowned.
“What does that prove?”
“Nothing.”
Hector hesitated.
“Then she said Raymond had more right to protect you than Rafael ever did.”
The kitchen went silent.
Alejandro walked outside.
I followed.
He stood beside the road beneath a cold Wisconsin sky.
“I don’t want to know,” he said.
I stopped beside him.
“What?”
“Whether Rafael was my biological father.”
“You don’t have to decide tonight.”
“He raised me.”
“Yes.”
“He taught me to ride a bike. He came to every baseball game. He made pancakes on Sundays even though they were terrible.”
His voice cracked.
“That’s my father.”
“Yes.”
I put my arms around him.
For the first time since my mother entered our home, I remembered that Alejandro was losing something too.
His childhood.
His history.
His certainty.
We stood there quietly.
Then he said, “I owe you an apology.”
“For what?”
“For bringing Elena home without telling you what I suspected.”
I pulled back.
“Yes, you do.”
“I thought I was protecting you.”
“That seems to be the favorite excuse in both our families.”
He almost smiled.
“You’re right.”
“You should have trusted me.”
“Yes.”
“And never make me bathe a stranger as a moral lesson again.”
His face tightened with shame.
“I won’t.”
I looked toward the house.
“I’m glad you brought her home.”
“So am I.”
“But what I said about homeless people…”
“You were wrong.”
I stared at him.
He shrugged.
“You want me to pretend you weren’t?”
“No.”
“Then you were wrong.”
I nodded.
“I was.”
It was strangely freeing.
Back inside, Marcus had called law enforcement.
The cassette recording and financial records were too serious to keep private.
Federal investigators became involved that night.
By morning, an assistant U.S. attorney was reviewing documents.
Catalina’s name began appearing everywhere.
So did Raymond Pike’s.
Raymond had died nine years earlier from pancreatic cancer.
Convenient for him.
Not for us.
Without him alive, investigators needed documents and witnesses to reconstruct the conspiracy.
My mother was both.
But her memory remained unreliable.
That afternoon, a neurologist examined her.
Afterward, he explained something important.
“Memory can return in fragments. Smells, places, voices and objects may trigger recall.”
“Should we take her to the old construction site?” I asked.
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because forcing traumatic memories can cause severe distress.”
My mother heard him.
“I want to go.”
“Mom.”
“I lost twenty years.”
She looked directly at me.
“I don’t want to lose one more day because I’m afraid.”
Two days later, we returned to Chicago.
The Halstead site no longer looked like a construction zone.
A medical-office complex stood there now.
But one section of the original foundation had been preserved beneath a parking structure.
My mother stood beside a concrete wall.
Her hands shook.
“I remember rain.”
I stayed close.
Alejandro and Marcus waited several feet behind us.
“Anything else?”
“Rafael shouting.”
She closed her eyes.
“He said run.”
Her breathing quickened.
“Mom, we can stop.”
“No.”
She pressed her palms against the wall.
“Victor grabbed me.”
“What happened?”
“I bit him.”
A strange laugh escaped her.
“I bit him.”
Then her face changed.
“Catalina.”
“What about her?”
“She was crying.”
Alejandro stepped closer.
“My mother was here?”
“Yes.”
“What was she doing?”
My mother’s eyes remained closed.
“She was screaming at Raymond.”
“What did she say?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try.”
My mother shook her head.
Then suddenly gasped.
“She said, ‘You promised nobody would die.’”
Alejandro went pale.
I squeezed my mother’s arm.
“What happened next?”
“Explosion.”
She cried out.
I caught her.
“Mom.”
“Smoke.”
“You’re safe.”
“Rafael was under something.”
Alejandro’s eyes filled with tears.
“He was alive?”
My mother looked at him.
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he say anything?”
She stared at Alejandro.
“He gave me something.”
“What?”
She touched her chest.
“The locket?”
“No.”
Her hand moved to her side.
“A ring.”
Alejandro frowned.
“My father’s ring?”
“He said give it to…”
She cried out again.
Then she reached toward Alejandro.
“Give it to his son.”
Alejandro began crying silently.
“Where is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Victor take it?”
My mother squeezed her eyes shut.
“No.”
“Who?”
Her face changed.
Fear returned.
“Raymond.”
Then she whispered, “He was alive too.”
Marcus stepped closer.
“After the explosion?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
“He kicked Rafael.”
Alejandro’s jaw tightened.
My mother began shaking.
“He saw me.”
“What happened?”
“He pulled me outside.”
“Raymond saved you?”
“No.”
Her eyes opened.
“He told Victor to make sure I never spoke again.”
Before anyone could respond, a woman’s voice echoed through the parking structure.
“That’s not what happened.”
We turned.
Catalina stood near the entrance.
Alone.
No chauffeur.
No assistant.
No perfect smile.
Alejandro stepped in front of my mother.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Catalina looked exhausted.
“I came to tell the truth.”
“You’ve had twenty years.”
“I know.”
She looked at Elena.
“Raymond ordered Victor to kill you.”
My mother stared at her.
Catalina’s eyes filled with tears.
“I stopped him.”
Elena’s expression hardened.
“You left me.”
“I thought Victor took you to a hospital.”
“He dumped me beside a demolished warehouse!”
Catalina flinched.
“I didn’t know.”
Alejandro laughed bitterly.
“And we’re supposed to believe you?”
“No.”
Catalina looked at her son.
“But believe this.”
She removed something from her handbag.
A man’s signet ring.
Alejandro stopped breathing.
I had seen that ring in photographs of Rafael.
Catalina held it out.
“Your father gave this to Elena before he died.”
Alejandro did not take it.
“You’ve had it for twenty years?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Raymond brought it to me.”
Alejandro’s eyes darkened.
Catalina began crying.
“He told me Rafael was dead.”
“You were there.”
“I left before the explosion.”
“My mother remembers you.”
“I was there earlier. Raymond threatened you. He said if I went to the police, he would arrange an accident for my seventeen-year-old son.”
Alejandro stared at her.
“So you chose me.”
“Yes.”
“And sacrificed everyone else.”
Catalina whispered, “Yes.”
The honesty stunned us.
Then my mother spoke.
“You hit me.”
Catalina closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“With what?”
“A flashlight.”
“Why?”
“You were trying to run back inside after Rafael.”
My mother stared.
Catalina swallowed.
“I hit you because I was trying to stop you from being killed.”
For one second, I almost believed her.
Then Marcus’s phone rang.
He answered.
His expression changed instantly.
“What?”
He listened.
Then looked at Alejandro.
“Federal agents just searched Catalina’s old corporate records storage.”
Catalina went pale.
Marcus continued.
“They found documents showing annual payments to Victor Hale.”
Alejandro looked at his mother.
“Until six years ago.”
Catalina shook her head.
“No.”
“The payments came from your personal trust.”
“No.”
Marcus lowered the phone.
“They weren’t for corporate security.”
I stared at Catalina.
“What were they for?”
Marcus answered.
“Surveillance.”
“Of who?”
He looked at me.
“Mariana.”
My stomach dropped.
The records contained photographs.
School.
College.
My wedding.
The hospital where my son was born.
For twenty years, Victor Hale had not merely watched my mother.
May you like
He had watched me.
And Catalina had paid him.
