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The room spun around me.
My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped the phone.
Javier stared at the screen as if it were a loaded weapon.
Mason clung to my arm, trembling.
The old woman downstairs was screaming for help, but her voice sounded distant, drowned beneath the pounding of my heart.
“Who is J?” I asked again.
Mason wiped his eyes.
“I heard him talking on the phone.”
“Who?”
“The man.”
“What man?”
“The one who came at night.”
Javier swallowed hard.
His face had become completely pale.
I had known my husband for twelve years.
I knew every expression he had.
This wasn’t confusion.
This was fear.
Real fear.
The kind that comes from recognizing something.
Or someone.
Police sirens suddenly echoed outside.
Neighbors had heard the commotion and called 911.
Within minutes, officers filled the house.
Arthur and Elvira were taken into custody.
Paramedics examined Mason while detectives questioned us.
One investigator took possession of the old flip phone.
As he scrolled through the messages, his expression darkened.
“Where exactly did you find this?”
“Under the bed,” Javier answered.
The detective nodded slowly.
Then he looked directly at my husband.
“Do you know anyone whose name begins with J?”
The question seemed innocent.
But I noticed Javier hesitate.
Only for a second.
Yet it was enough.
That night, Mason was admitted to the hospital for observation.
Physically, he was weak but stable.
Emotionally, the doctors said the recovery would take much longer.
Lucy refused to leave his side.
She sat next to his bed holding his hand as though afraid he might disappear again.
Around midnight, I stepped into the hallway for coffee.
That’s when the detective approached me.
“Mrs. Alvarez?”
“Yes?”
“We’ve identified several fingerprints on the phone.”
I nodded.
“And?”
“They belong to Arthur. Elvira. And one unidentified individual.”
My stomach tightened.
“Do you know who?”
“Not yet.”
He paused.
“But there is something else.”
“What?”
“The messages reference legal documents.”
My heart skipped.
“What kind of legal documents?”
“We’re still investigating.”
That answer only made me more nervous.
The next morning, while Javier slept in a chair beside Mason’s bed, I returned home to gather fresh clothes.
The house felt different.
Quieter.
Almost haunted.
As I sorted through paperwork on the kitchen counter, I noticed a folder I had never seen before.
It was tucked behind a stack of unopened mail.
Inside were documents relating to my grandmother’s estate.
I froze.
Two months before Mason disappeared, my grandmother had passed away.
She had left me a substantial inheritance.
Several properties.
Investments.
Land outside Savannah.
Assets worth far more than I had realized.
At the time, I barely paid attention.
I was too focused on searching for Mason.
Then I saw something that made my blood run cold.
A signature page.
Someone had attempted to transfer authority over portions of the estate.
The paperwork was incomplete.
But one signature line had already been filled out.
The name read:
Javier Alvarez.
I stared at it for several seconds.
Unable to breathe.
Unable to think.
Unable to process what I was seeing.
Then my phone rang.
The detective.
“Mrs. Alvarez, we need you to come to the station.”
“Why?”
“We identified the phone number saved as J.”
My heart hammered.
“Who is it?”