Chapter 9: The Room Where It Was Decided
The prosecutor's office was on the fourth floor of a building that smelled like old paper and recycled air.
Andrés's contact was a woman named Isabel Fuentes.
She had short gray hair, reading glasses on a chain around her neck, and the manner of someone who had spent twenty years hearing things that could not be unheard.
She shook Roberto's hand, looked at him directly, and said nothing unnecessary.
She read the screenshots twice.
She looked at the timestamp on the sixth message.
She looked at the crash report Andrés had brought.
She set everything down and folded her hands.
"The coast road instruction," she said.
"Your wife had no prior pattern of using that route?"
"None," Roberto said.
"She always took the highway.
It was faster.
She had the baby — Sofía — in the car.
She always took the fastest route."
"And the message was sent from a number registered to Vanessa Solís."
"Yes."
"And your wife's phone received it."
"The records show it was delivered and opened."
Isabel looked at the window for a moment.
Then back at Roberto.
"This is not enough on its own to charge anyone," she said.
"I want to be clear about that.
A message suggesting a route is not evidence of intent.
A defense attorney would take that apart in an hour." She paused.
"But it is enough to reopen the investigation.
And when we reopen it, we look at everything — phone records, financial records, any prior relationship between Solís and your wife, any motive."
"What kind of motive would matter?" Roberto asked.
Isabel looked at him steadily.
"You were already a wealthy man four years ago."
The room was quiet.
"She didn't know me four years ago," Roberto said.
"Are you certain?"
He opened his mouth.
Then he closed it.
Andrés set a hand briefly on Roberto's arm.
"That is one of the things the investigation would establish."
Isabel nodded.
"Mr.
Navarro, I need to ask you something directly.
When you met Vanessa Solís — who introduced you?"
Roberto thought back.
A charity event.
A crowded room.
Someone had brought her over.
He had assumed it was a mutual friend.
He had never thought to verify it.
"A man named Cortés," he said.
"Ramón Cortés.
He said she was a friend of his wife's."
Isabel wrote the name down.
"I'll need everything you can give me about her history before she entered your life," she said.
"Financial records if you have access.
Any documentation from the cohabitation agreement.
The name of her attorney." She looked at Andrés.
"You mentioned a conflict of interest."
"Luca Ferretti," Andrés said.
"Her attorney and her companion.
We have a photograph."
Isabel wrote that down too.
"This will take time," she said.
"Weeks, possibly months.
During that time, you cannot confront her.
You cannot let her know the investigation is being reopened.
If she destroys evidence or leaves the country—"
"I understand," Roberto said.
"Does she have reason to suspect you know about the messages?"
"No.
She knows I asked her to leave.
She thinks it's about last night — about what happened with my daughter."
Isabel nodded slowly.
"Then let her think that.
Let her believe this is a domestic dispute.
Let her file whatever civil claim she intends to file." She paused.
"It will keep her in place."
Roberto looked at the screenshots on the table.
"And if the investigation finds what I think it will find?"
May you like
Isabel met his eyes.
"Then," she said, "we will have a very different conversation."
