Part 4 — One Call from Our Grandson on the Road Used to Turn Us Back, but When My Daughter’s Voice Changed, Teresa Dropped the Phone from Her Hand

After Mariana’s last words, the call was cut off.

I stared at the phone as if I were supposed to see the answer on its black screen.

“Chuy, get the car ready,” I said.

“Let’s call the police too.”

“Let’s call them. But first we have to find the child.”

Chuy dialed the emergency number, while Teresa contacted the city emergency service. I kept calling Mariana. Once. Twice. The third time the call went directly to voicemail.

We entered the old water-supply tunnel from the basement. Moisture glistened on the walls, and knee-deep dust stood on the floor. Chuy walked ahead of me, holding a small flashlight.

“What if they are waiting for us here?” Teresa asked quietly.

“Then we will not turn back.”

I did not know whether I was reassuring her or myself.

At the end of the tunnel we found an iron grate. Chuy broke the lock in a few seconds. We climbed out under the garage.

There was no one there.

Only the warm smell of a car engine and an overturned chair on the floor.

I found a small drawing resembling Mateo’s copper fish on the wall, drawn in chalk. Under it were three arrows: one to the right, two downward.

“That is his sign,” Teresa said. “When we were little, he used to leave it while playing hide-and-seek.”

We heard a sound from the lower floor.

“Mateo!” I shouted.

“Grandpa?”

The voice came from the pantry. The door was locked from the outside. Chuy fitted a heavy iron tool and smashed the door.

Mateo was sitting in the corner, his hands tied, but his eyes were shining alertly.

“You didn’t cry?” I asked.

“I was afraid. But I knew you would come.”

I hugged him. There was a blue pencil stain on the collar of his shirt. It was a simple, familiar detail, but at that moment it became the whole world to me.

“Where is Mom?”

Mateo looked at the ceiling.

“Dad locked her in the room. He told me that if Grandpa came back, he would kill us all. Then I found this in his bag.”

He took a small memory card from his pocket.

Chuy took out his device and played the recording. It was the same conversation we had previously heard only halfway, but now everything could be heard clearly.

Rodrigo was saying:

“Arthur’s property will be mine within forty-eight hours. Mariana will sign. If not, they will take Mateo and blame the crime on him.”

Mariana’s voice was trembling.

“My father will not pay your debts.”

“He will pay after death.”

Mateo lowered his head.

“I recorded this yesterday. Mom told me to go down to the basement if we needed to escape.”

Something collapsed in my heart. Mariana had not been guilty. They were forcing her. And while she thought every path was closed, she protected her own child and warned us.

The slam of a door sounded from above.

“Mateo, don’t make a sound!” Rodrigo shouted.

Chuy sent the location to the police. I moved my grandson behind me.

“Arthur, come outside!” Rodrigo shouted. “Your daughter is in my hands!”

I went up the stairs.

Mariana was standing by the living-room door. Her hands were not tied, but Rodrigo had a gun pressed to her temple. That cheerful smile with which she had called me several hours earlier was no longer on her face.

“Dad, don’t come!”

“Lower the gun, Rodrigo.”

“You can’t do anything to me. If you kill me, everything will still turn against you.”

“No,” I told him. “Today, for the first time, everything is against you.”

From the corner Chuy shone the flashlight directly into his eyes. Rodrigo was blinded for one second. Mariana struck the gun. The shot went into the ceiling.

Then the police officers burst in.

Rodrigo tried to escape, but fell at the door. They cuffed his hands behind his back.

“This is my family!” he shouted. “They stole everything from me!”

One of the police officers took the memory card.

“These are your words, Mr. Rodrigo. We’ll let you hear them yourself.”

In the kitchen, at the table, they played the recording once more. Rodrigo stood there in handcuffs, listening to his own voice.

“He will pay after death.”

His face slowly turned pale.

“I didn’t say it like that…”

“You said it,” the investigator replied.

For the first time Rodrigo lowered his eyes.

The rest happened quickly. The forged document was sent for examination. The notary admitted that Rodrigo had provided him with misleading information. A life-insurance policy was found too—if I died, the money would belong to Rodrigo.

His lawyer contacted us the very next day.

“If the family agrees, the matter may end peacefully.”

“No,” I said. “This time the truth must go all the way.”

An investigation was opened against Rodrigo. Later the court sentenced him to imprisonment for attempted murder, forged documents, threats, and the unlawful confinement of a child. No charges were brought against Mariana. On the contrary, her testimony confirmed everything.

But the most serious consequence did not begin in the cell.

Within a week, Rodrigo’s former partners published the bank statements. It turned out that he had taken dozens of loans in Mariana’s name and redistributed the debts to others. Everyone who had stood by him turned their backs on him.

Mariana offered to move into our house, but I refused.

“You are not a guest in our house, my child. This is your house too.”

She cried on my shoulder for the first time, the way she had in childhood when she had scraped her knee.

Several months later we rented a small apartment in another part of the city. Mariana began working in a library. Teresa planted tomatoes on the balcony. And I helped Chuy in the workshop, repairing old cars.

Mateo’s school was changed. In the very first week he drew a house on a sheet of paper, with three windows and one big sun above it.

“This is our new house,” he told me.

“Why is there no fence here?”

“Because whoever wants to come in has to knock on the door.”

Eleven weeks later we received a letter from Rodrigo. It contained only one sentence: “I want to speak with you at least once before everything is finally over.”

Teresa put the letter on the table.

Mariana stood silently.

“You decide,” I told her.

She looked at the sheet of paper for a long time.

“No. This time I will not decide in his place anymore.”

We did not open the letter. We handed it to the investigator.

On the first morning of winter, Mateo handed me my car keys. The little copper fish was still hanging on them. I had cleaned the trace of mud long ago, but one small scratch remained on the tail.

“Grandpa, where are we going now?”

White flakes were falling outside the window. The road was peaceful. No one was following us.

“Wherever you want,” I told him.

He ran his finger over the pendant and smiled.

This time the road led home.