THE WAR ROOM
Two weeks later, Victoria’s private library turned into a command bunker. Reports from multiple detective agencies spread across the mahogany table.
She read aloud with open disdain:
“Single. No family except a distant aunt.”
“Double shifts, sixty hours a week.”
“Iztapalapa. Tiny apartment.”
“No university degree.”
Her assistant, David, added, “The boy’s in public daycare. No private insurance. Living day to day.”
Then he hesitated. “There’s something off.”
“No hospital record of Tadeo’s birth under Yazmín’s name. No original birth certificate. It’s as if the child appeared… or the real mother was erased.”
Victoria’s nails tapped the wood. “Bring her.”
“Tomorrow. 2 PM. And prepare the checkbook.”
