Chapter 3 - THE DIGITAL GHOST"Dad, what do you know?" I crouched beside his wheelchair, taking his cold, stiff hand.
Ernesto couldn't speak, but his eyes blazed with a terrifying mixture of rage and terror. He gripped my wrist with surprising strength, dragging my hand down toward the pocket of his trousers. I slipped my fingers inside and pulled out a small, black USB flash drive.
I stared at it, confused. "What is this?"
Ernesto blinked twice—our pre-arranged signal for urgent proof. He tilted his head toward the smart TV mounted on the bedroom wall.
Recognizing the tactical advantage, I grabbed the remote, slotted the USB drive into the side port, and powered on the screen.
A file list appeared. At the top was a video file timestamped just forty-eight hours ago: MARIANA_FINAL_LOG.mp4.
My breath hitched. I clicked play.
The screen lit up with the face of my beautiful wife, Mariana. But she didn't look like a woman contemplating suicide. Her eyes were wide, bloodshot, and filled with a frantic, animalistic adrenaline. She was whispering, her back pressed against the same bedroom closet door behind me.
"Alejandro, if you're watching this, I'm already gone. Teresa and Diego found out. They found the ledger."
On screen, a loud bang echoed—the sound of Diego kicking the door. Mariana flinched, whispering frantically:
"They aren't looking to protect my reputation; they're hiding a murder—not mine, but what happened at the corporate warehouse. Diego embezzled millions from your security accounts, and when I threatened to tell you, they—"
The video abruptly cut to black as a pair of hands—Teresa’s manicured hands—shoved into the camera frame, ripping the device away.
Click.
The TV screen went black.
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Behind us, in the doorway of the bedroom, stood Teresa, holding a heavy silver candlestick, her face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated evil.
"You shouldn't have looked, son," Teresa sneered, blocking our only exit. "Family loyalty used to mean something in this house."
