Chapter 5 - THE FIRE WAS MEANT TO EMPTY THE WAREHOUSE
“Carmen wasn’t supposed to be inside.”
Mateo’s young voice filled the restaurant office.
Dominic did not move.
Neither did I.
The recording continued.
“Dad wanted the records room burned after everyone left. Victor said it was the only way to destroy the copies.”
My stomach turned.
Rafael knew about the fire.
Not an accidental fire.
Not Victor acting alone.
A planned destruction of evidence.
But supposedly after hours.
Supposedly empty.
Mateo continued.
“Carmen changed shifts.”
I remembered my mother working late.
Always late.
Extra money.
Extra hours.
“Victor didn’t know she was there until after the alarms.”
Dominic looked at me.
I could not look back.
Mateo’s voice cracked through static.
“Dad knew.”
My heart stopped.
“What?” I whispered.
The recording continued.
“He saw her car outside.”
Silence.
“He still let them start it.”
Dominic closed his eyes.
That was worse than planning an empty fire.
Rafael had seen Carmen’s car.
Knew she might be inside.
And chose the records over certainty.
Mateo spoke again.
“I was inside because I followed Dad.”
Dominic’s head snapped up.
His brother had not simply been there accidentally.
“He told me to wait in the truck. I didn’t.”
Static.
“I saw Carmen in the hallway. She got Dominic out.”
Another pause.
“I heard Dad tell Victor not to go back.”
My throat tightened.
The final words were barely audible.
“Carmen went back because she thought I was still inside.”
Then the tape clicked off.
No one spoke.
Dominic stood with both hands on the desk.
His shoulders did not move.
He looked like a man holding up an entire building alone.
I should have been furious at his father.
I was.
But when I looked at Dominic, I saw the twelve-year-old Carmen had carried through smoke.
The boy who had spent twenty years believing his father had simply failed to save her.
Now he knew Rafael had accepted the risk.
Maybe not intended her death.
Maybe not lit the match.
But he had known she could still be there.
Dominic whispered, “She went back for Mateo.”
“Yes.”
“And my father knew Mateo was already outside.”
I understood.
“He could have stopped her.”
“If he had shouted.”
“Why didn’t he?”
Dominic’s voice cracked on the last word.
Nobody answered.
Tomas arrived thirty minutes later.
Dominic played the tape once.
Only once.
His uncle sat in silence afterward.
“You knew about the planned fire.”
It was not a question.
Tomas nodded.
“I learned afterward.”
“Did you know Carmen’s car was there?”
“No.”
“Did Rafael?”
Tomas closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Dominic turned away.
I expected rage.
Instead, his voice became quieter.
“Why didn’t he call out?”
Tomas answered carefully.
“The fire had already spread through the records corridor. There was confusion.”
“That is not an answer.”
“No.”
Tomas looked toward me.
“Rafael believed Carmen had already left through the south door.”
“But he wasn’t sure.”
“No.”
“So when she ran back for Mateo?”
“He froze.”
That was almost ordinary.
Cowardice rarely looked cinematic when stripped of excuses.
Rafael froze.
Carmen did not.
She died.
He lived.
Tomas wiped his face.
“He hated himself afterward.”
I looked at him.
“Did that help my mother?”
“No.”
Good answer.
Dominic sat.
“What happened to Mateo after he made this tape?”
Tomas hesitated.
“He confronted Rafael.”
“When?”
“Two days before his car crash.”
Silence.
Dominic looked at him.
“You told me the crash was weather.”
“It was raining.”
“That is not what I asked.”
Tomas’s voice became strained.
“The police report said mechanical failure.”
“What failed?”
“Steering.”
Dominic stood.
“Was it tampered with?”
“I don’t know.”
Marco was already searching on his phone.
The old report had been archived.
He found enough.
Mateo’s vehicle had a damaged steering linkage.
No conclusion of sabotage.
No detailed follow-up.
Because Rafael declined further investigation.
Dominic stared.
“My father closed it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Tomas looked afraid now.
“Because Victor’s mechanic had serviced the car two days earlier.”
Everything became quiet again.
Victor.
The same man.
The same shadow.
But Tomas raised one hand.
“Before you decide, hear me.”
Dominic’s eyes hardened.
Tomas continued.
“Victor adored Mateo.”
“People keep loving the people they destroy.”
“Yes.”
Tomas accepted that.
“But I don’t believe he ordered it.”
“Why?”
“Because after Mateo died, Victor disappeared for three months.”
“To hide?”
“No.”
“To find the mechanic.”
Dominic frowned.
“What mechanic?”
“Luis Serrano.”
Not related to Victor despite the surname.
A garage owner tied to one of Rafael’s old trucking crews.
“Where is he now?”
“Retired.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
They found Luis that evening in Cicero.
Seventy-four.
Oxygen tank beside his recliner.
He recognized Dominic immediately.
“I knew this day was coming.”
Dominic showed him Mateo’s photograph.
Luis looked away.
“Did you damage the steering?”
“No.”
“Did Victor order you to?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
Luis’s hands shook.
“Nobody.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“Then explain.”
“The car came in because Mateo said the wheel pulled left. I fixed a tie rod.”
“Correctly?”
“Yes.”
“What happened later?”
Luis looked toward me.
“A man came by after closing.”
“Who?”
“I thought he worked for Rafael.”
“Name.”
“Gianni Vale.”
Tomas went pale.
Dominic saw it.
“Who is that?”
“Your father’s financial controller.”
The same kind of man who understood records.
Payments.
Access.
Luis continued.
“Gianni said Mateo needed the vehicle moved to another garage.”
“You gave him the keys.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He had Rafael’s authorization card.”
Dominic’s expression hardened.
Gianni Vale took Mateo’s car.
Returned it three hours later.
Two days afterward, Mateo died.
“Where is Gianni?” Dominic asked.
Tomas answered.
“San Francisco.”
I frowned.
“What does he do?”
Dominic looked at me.
“Chief financial officer of Castellano Holdings.”
Victor’s company.
Twenty years later.
Still there.
Then Luis said something else.
“Victor came after Mateo died.”
Dominic looked at him.
“What did he ask?”
“Whether Rafael had sent Gianni.”
“Why?”
“Because Victor thought Rafael killed his own son.”
Dominic stared.
Luis shook his head.
“But Victor was wrong.”
“How do you know?”
Luis reached toward a drawer.
Inside was an old service receipt.
Gianni’s signature.
And beneath it, a second authorization.
Not Rafael Reyes.
V.C.
May you like
Victor Castellano.
Luis whispered, “Victor sent Gianni.”
