Chapter 4 - The Man in the Engine RoomAt 8:17 a.m., the Aurelia docked in Monaco.
The official story was already spreading.
Mariana Salcedo had died.
Her son was presumed missing.
Her father was devastated.
Her mother was “inconsolable.”
Television cameras crowded the harbor.
Reporters shouted questions.
Esteban Salcedo appeared on the yacht's upper deck wearing a black coat.
He looked exhausted.
Broken.
Perfect.
“I loved my daughter,” he told reporters.
He paused.
“She had been struggling for some time.”
Behind him, Isabela stood in dark sunglasses.
A single tear traced her cheek.
Nobody saw her smile when the cameras turned away.
Except one person.
Sofia Salcedo.
She stood near the doorway.
Her face was pale.
Her hands were shaking.
Because she knew something the others didn't.
The camera footage had survived.
And someone else knew about it.
Down below, in the engine room, a crew member removed his cap.
His face was hidden by grease and shadows.
He checked the time.
Then pulled a phone from his pocket.
“They're alive.”
A voice answered.
“Which one?”
“The mother.”
Silence.
“And the child?”
“Alive too.”
Another pause.
“Then we have a problem.”
The crewman looked toward the ceiling.
“There's more.”
“What?”
“He has the mark.”
Silence.
This time, longer.
“Are you certain?”
“I saw it.”
The voice became colder.
“Then bring them both back.”
The crewman swallowed.
“And Mariana?”
A quiet answer came.
“She's not the one I'm worried about.”
Upstairs, Esteban walked into the private salon.
Isabela entered behind him.
Sofia followed.
“Everyone out,” Esteban said.
The doors closed.
“What happened to the camera?” Isabela asked.
Esteban stared at her.
“You said it was disabled.”
“It should have been.”
“You were certain.”
“I was.”
Sofia suddenly spoke.
“Maybe someone restored it.”
Both parents turned.
Esteban's expression sharpened.
“Who?”
Sofia hesitated.
“I don't know.”
Isabela approached her.
“You gave someone the access key.”
Sofia went pale.
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
Isabela lifted her hand.
Sofia flinched.
“You always were a terrible liar.”
Esteban stopped her.
“Enough.”
He looked at Sofia.
“You saw him.”
“Who?”
“The man near the camera.”
Sofia's eyes widened.
“You knew?”
“I know everything that happens on my ship.”
Lie.
Sofia recognized it immediately.
Then Esteban's phone rang.
He answered.
A man's voice spoke.
“She's alive.”
Esteban went silent.
Isabela watched him.
“What?”
“Mariana.”
The blood drained from Esteban's face.
“She survived.”
Isabela stepped closer.
“Where?”
“We don't know.”
“Find her.”
“We are trying.”
“And the boy?”
Silence.
Then the voice said:
“That's where it gets interesting.”
Esteban's expression changed.
“What did you find?”
“The mark.”
Isabela's face went white.
Sofia looked between them.
“What mark?”
Nobody answered.
Her phone vibrated.
She looked down.
A photograph had been sent.
Newborn baby.
Three red dots on the wrist.
Sofia's lips parted.
She whispered:
“No.”
Isabela grabbed the phone.
Then froze.
Behind the baby in the photograph stood a woman.
A woman Sofia had been told was dead.
A woman she had never actually seen.
Isabela whispered her name.
“Lucía.”
Esteban grabbed the phone.
His hands shook.
“Where did this come from?”
Another message appeared.
THE CAMERA WAS NEVER THE EVIDENCE.
Then:
THE CAMERA WAS THE WARNING.
The salon doors burst open.
Two guards entered.
“Sir!”
“What?”
“The engine room.”
Esteban turned.
“What about it?”
“The crewman is gone.”
“And?”
“One of the fuel lines was cut.”
Esteban frowned.
Then the guard added:
“He left a message on the wall.”
Esteban followed him downstairs.
Painted across the steel wall in red grease was one sentence:
SHE KNOWS WHO THE FATHER IS.
Esteban stopped.
Because he knew exactly who “she” was.
May you like
Mariana.
And suddenly, for the first time that morning, the famous Salcedo patriarch looked afraid.
