Blindfolds of Desire

The Witness

THE GARCIA MANSION

The dining room is too big for two people.

Victor sits at the head of the table, a plate of food in front of him. Across from him, Veronica picks at her salmon, moving it around her plate without ever bringing it to her mouth.

The silence is literally deafening.

"You should eat," Victor says, not looking at her.

"I'm not hungry."

"You haven't eaten in two days."

"How do I eat when my only child is missing?"

Victor sets his fork down. Looks at her. Her face is pale. Dark circles under her eyes. She's wearing the same blouse as yesterday—or was it the day before? He can't remember.

"Veronica."

She shakes her head. "Don't. Don't tell me to eat. Don't tell me it'll be fine. Don't tell me anything until she's home."

Victor sighs. He picks up his fork again. Puts it down. Picks it up.

"Mark is working," he says. "He'll find her."

"Will he?" Veronica's voice breaks. "Because it's been—" she stops. Counts in her head. "Three days, Victor. Three days. And nothing. No calls. No ransom. Nothing."

Victor pushes his chair back from the table. He stands, then walks to the window.

Outside, the estate looks peaceful. Green lawns. Fountains. Guards patrolling. Everything seems normal. Everything seems perfect.

"Mark," he calls, his voice going through the open doorway.

A minute later, Mark appears. He is not ready to report anything.

"Sir."

Victor doesn't turn around. "You don't have anything to tell me?"

Mark steps into the room. Glances at Veronica. Looks away.

"We've covered forty percent of the city. Photos. Flyers. My team has been working around the clock."

Veronica stands. "And? What have you found?"

"We have a lead. A witness."

Victor turns.

"A witness?"

"The night she disappeared." Mark pulls out his phone from his back pocket, scrolls through the notes. "A homeless man. Stays near the ivory gate. He says he saw a black car near the ivory gate around midnight. Matches the timeline."

Veronica moves toward him. "What else? What did he see?"

"He's... not reliable, Mrs. Garcia. He was drinking. It was dark. The rain was heavy. He says he saw a car—a nice one, he said—and maybe a struggle. But he's not sure."

"Not sure?" Victor's voice is ice cold.

"He's sure about the car being black. But the rest—" Mark shakes his head. "He could be imagining things."

Victor is quiet for a minute.

"Bring him to me."

Mark blinks. "Sir?"

"The witness. Bring him here. I want to talk to him myself."

"Yes, sir. I'll arrange it."

Victor walks toward his study. Pauses at the door.

"And the security footage? From that night?"

Mark's face tightens. "We reviewed it. The cameras near the ivory gate—they were disabled. Someone cut them out."

The room goes quiet.

Veronica's hand goes to her mouth.

Victor's eyes narrow. "Disabled?"

"Yes, sir. Professionally. Whoever took her knew exactly where our blind spots are."

Victor stands still for a minute.

Then he moves fast—out of the dining room, down the hall, into his study. Mark follows. Veronica behind him.

Victor goes to his desk. Opens his laptop. Motions Mark over.

"Pull up every frame we have. From every camera. From that entire night. From the week before. I don't care how long it takes. I want to see who's been watching my house."

Mark nods. Connects his tablet. Begins transferring files.

Veronica stands in the doorway. Her lips are shaking.

"Victor," she whispers. "Who would do this? Who would take our baby?"

Victor doesn't answer.

Because he has enemies. Dozens of them. Hundreds. Men he's crossed. Men he's ruined. Men whose families he's destroyed.

Any of them could want revenge.

Any of them could want his daughter.

He thinks of the note Arabella left. I love Liam. She thought she was running to love. Instead, she ran straight into a trap.

And he—Victor Garcia, the man everyone fears—couldn't protect her from it.

"Mark."

"Sir."

"Double the reward. Triple it. I want her face everywhere. Buses. Billboards. News. Social media. If someone knows something, I want them running here."

Mark nods. Types notes.

"And the witness. Bring him tonight. I don't care what time. I don't care what state he's in. I want him in front of me."

"Yes, sir."

Mark leaves.

Veronica moves into the room. Sits on the edge of the couch. Her eyes are dry now.

"She was so angry," she says quietly. "That night. When I kissed her goodnight, she was so angry at me. At us."

Victor looks at her.

"I told her feelings change. I told her she'd thank us later." Veronica laughs. It's hollow. "What if that was the last time I ever saw her? And I spent it telling her she was wrong?"

Victor crosses to her. Sits beside her. Takes her hand.

It's been years since he held her hand like this. Years since they were anything but two people sharing a house and a name.

"We'll find her," he says. "I promise you."

Veronica looks at him. Not saying anything.

She pulls her hand away. Stands. Walks to the window.

"You should eat."

"No."

"Veronica—"

"I can't, Victor. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I can't do anything except sit here and think about where she is. If she's cold. If she's scared. If she's…"

Victor stands. Moves behind her. Doesn't touch her.

"She's alive," he says. "I'd know if she wasn't. A father would know."

Veronica says nothing.

They stand there together. Two people who've grown apart over the years. Two people who've built walls between them.

But in this moment, only their daughter matters.

Only Arabella.

---

LATER THAT NIGHT

Mark returns at 11 p.m.

He brings the witness.

The man is thin. Dirty. Smells like cheap alcohol and the street. His eyes are wide as he takes in the mansion—the floors, the ceiling light, the paintings on the walls.

Victor sits at his desk. He doesn't offer the man a seat.

"You saw something."

The man nods quickly. "Yes, sir. Mr. Garcia, sir. I saw. That night I…"

"Tell me."

The man fidgets with his hands.

"I was… I was near the gate. The big one. The pretty one. I sleep there sometimes. Under the trees. It's dry…"

"What did you see?"

The man flinches at Victor's tone.

"A car, sir. A black one. Nice. Real nice. I know cars—I used to valet, before… before things went bad. That was an Audi." He scratches his head. "The model… I am not sure."

Victor's eyes narrow. "Go on."

"It was parked there. For a long time. Maybe twenty minutes. Then…"

"Then what?"

"Then a girl came. Running. She was wet. From the rain. Carrying a box. I didn't see her face."

Veronica makes a sound from the corner. Victor doesn't look at her.

"What happened next?"

"She was standing by the gate. A man came out of the car. I didn't see his face." He stops talking.

"Go ahead, damn it. What happened to my daughter?"

"I couldn't see properly… it was dark. But I think he forced her into the car."

Victor's hands curl into fists on the desk.

"You're sure about the car?"

"Yes, sir. It's a black Audi. License plate—" He scrunches his face, trying to remember. "Started with J. Or G. I'm sorry, sir. It was dark."

Victor nods slowly. "And the man? Can you describe him?"

"He was tall. Strong arms. Dressed in black. I didn't see much."

Victor exchanges a glance with Mark.

"Could you identify him?"

The man shakes his head. "No, sir. I'm sorry."

Victor stands. Walks to the window. Thinks.

A black Audi. Professional job. Disabled cameras.

Someone had it planned.

"Mark."

"Sir."

"Pull every security camera feed from that night. Every street. Every business. Every traffic light within five miles of the ivory gate. I want to see that car coming and going."

"Already started, sir. It'll take time—there are dozens of them. Hundreds."

"Then work faster."

Mark nods, then leaves with the witness.

Victor turns to Veronica.

She is crying silently.

"She must have tried to fight," Veronica whispers. "Scream. And no one helped her."

Victor crosses to her. This time, he does touch her. He pulls her into his arms.

She resists for a second. Then collapses against him.

"We'll find her," he says again. "Whoever did thiI'll burn their life to the ground."

Veronica clings to him.