Chapter 4 - The Workshop That Burned Twice
Julián spent six hours in custody.
Valeria spent all six refusing to leave the station.
Camila’s attorneys eventually forced his release after Valeria signed a statement confirming she had voluntarily allowed him to inspect the braces.
Salazar disappeared.
By midnight, Julián stood outside the address Camila had whispered.
The building was supposed to be gone.
It wasn’t.
Only the front workshop had burned.
Behind it remained a narrow concrete storage room hidden by corrugated sheets.
Valeria had insisted on coming.
So had Camila.
“You should be at a hospital,” Julián told Valeria.
“I spent nine years listening to people tell me where I should be.”
He couldn’t argue with that.
They entered.
Dust covered everything.
Julián found an old metal cabinet.
The brass key fit.
Inside were photographs.
Medical diagrams.
Invoices.
And a cassette recorder.
Julián’s hands shook when he saw his father’s handwriting.
FOR J.R.
He pressed play.
Static.
Then José Mendoza’s voice filled the room.
“If Julián ever hears this, it means I failed to come home.”
Julián closed his eyes.
Valeria touched his arm.
José explained that Meditek had been testing a remotely adjustable brace-control system. The technology itself had legitimate uses.
But somebody had altered Valeria’s device.
Her recovery had been deliberately restricted.
Why?
José didn’t know.
He had discovered financial transfers connecting Salazar to a holding company.
Then the recording changed.
“I made a copy of the original scans. Camila doesn’t know where I put them.”
Julián leaned closer.
“The proof is inside the first machine I ever taught my son to repair.”
The tape ended.
Valeria whispered, “What machine?”
Julián knew.
His father’s red toolbox.
He had kept it for years.
It was inside his garage.
They drove back immediately.
The street was silent when they arrived.
Too silent.
Julián stopped the SUV.
The garage door was open.
He had locked it.
Valeria whispered, “Someone’s inside.”
Julián stepped out.
Then he saw the red toolbox sitting in the center of the floor.
Open.
Empty.
May you like
And behind it, written in fresh black paint across the concrete, were four words:
YOU SHOULD HAVE FORGOTTEN HIM.
