Chapter 5 - The Search in the Slums
Without waiting for Renata’s response, Daniel turned and ran down the stairs. He didn't grab a coat; he didn't care about the rain. He sprinted to his car, starting the engine with a roar.
“Eusebio! Do you have Marisol’s address from her employment file?” Daniel shouted through the window.
“Iztapalapa, sir! Calle de la Cruz, number 42!” Eusebio yelled back over the sound of the thunder. “Please find them, sir!”
Daniel slammed his foot on the accelerator, the tires screeching against the wet asphalt as he tore out of the mansion gates. The city was paralyzed by the storm, traffic crawling at a snail's pace, but Daniel drove like a man possessed. He swerved through lanes, running red lights, his mind consumed by a terrifying guilt.
How could I have been so blind? he thought, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. He remembered Alejandro’s final letters, talking about a girl who worked at a local bakery in Veracruz, a girl named Marisol who possessed a heart of pure gold. After Alejandro’s death, the Robles family had searched for her, but Marisol, devastated and fearing the wrath of the wealthy family who hated her, had changed her number and vanished into the sprawl of Mexico City. She had never known she was pregnant with Alejandro’s child until after she left. And when she desperately needed a job years later, she had applied to the Robles estate through an agency, using her maiden name, never realizing that the cold, distant billionaire tech mogul Daniel Robles was the brother of her late love.
An hour later, Daniel arrived in the labyrinthine streets of Iztapalapa. The area was flooded, the streets turning into rivers of brown water. He parked his luxury sedan on a curb and stepped out into the pouring rain, his expensive leather shoes instantly ruined.
He searched for over forty minutes, knocking on rusted metal doors, showing a photo of Marisol from her file to confused residents. Finally, an old woman pointed toward a dilapidated apartment complex at the end of the alley.
Daniel ran up the cracked concrete stairs to the third floor. He found apartment 42. The door was slightly ajar.
He pushed it open. The room was tiny, damp, and freezing cold. A single mattress lay on the floor. Sitting on it was Marisol, holding Camila tightly in her arms. The little girl was shaking violently, her chest heaving as she struggled for breath. Her asthma inhaler lay empty on the floor.
“Marisol!” Daniel cried out, rushing into the room and dropping to his knees beside them.
Marisol flinched, pulling Camila closer, her eyes filled with absolute terror. “Please, Señor Daniel... don’t let them take her. I didn't steal anything, I swear to God, I didn't steal it...”
“I know, Marisol. I know,” Daniel said, his voice breaking as tears mingled with the rainwater on his face. He reached out, gently touching Camila’s burning forehead. She was burning with a fever, her lips turning a faint shade of blue. “We need to get her to a hospital right now. Give her to me.”
May you like
Seeing the genuine panic and tenderness in his eyes, Marisol’s defenses crumbled. She allowed Daniel to lift Camila into his strong arms. He wrapped his own dry linen shirt around the shivering girl.
“Hold onto my neck, Camila,” Daniel whispered, his heart breaking as the little girl weakly clutched his shoulder, her tiny hand still holding that golden button. “Uncle Daniel is here. I’ve got you.”
