Andrés approached, his eyes filled with contempt.
“You want an apology? Get on your knees, Mariana. Admit you stole and get out of my house.”
I looked at him one last time as his wife.
Then I looked at Brenda, who was already picturing herself owning that mansion.
And I smiled.
“Remember your words, Andrés. Because this house, your company, your trucks, your accounts, and even the last name you flaunt at meetings… it all depends on me.”
He laughed again.
“No one will believe you.”
I didn’t answer. I opened the door and left.
Outside, a black SUV pulled up next to the entrance. A man in a suit got out and respectfully opened the door for me.
“Mrs. Mariana Escalante, your father is waiting for you at the corporate office. The lawyers have already activated the clauses.”
Behind me, the laughter died away.
I got into the truck, took out my cell phone, and said three words:
“Freeze everything. Now.”
I couldn’t believe what I was about to wake up to…
PART 2
Andrés’s first credit card was declined at 11:03 p.m.
By 10:42 p.m., the Grupo Armenta line of credit had already been suspended. By 10:47 p.m., the emergency lien on the mansion had been registered. By 10:55 p.m., the board members received notice that Escalante Holdings was withdrawing all private guarantees due to misconduct, fraud, and embezzlement.
I sat silently in the truck, my cheek swollen and my hand wrapped in a blood-stained towel.
Attorney Ríos, my father’s lawyer, opened a black folder.
“Ms. Escalante, I need to confirm this. Do you authorize the full activation?”
I looked out the window at the elegant streets of Las Lomas, lined with houses that resembled castles, inhabited by people who believe that money can mask cruelty.
“Yes.”
“Everything?”
I turned to him.
“He hit me.”
Ríos lowered his gaze.
“I understand.”
“No. He hit the woman who signed the guarantees that kept his company alive. He hit the woman who protected his mother from lawsuits. He hit the daughter of the man who bought the debt that was drowning them.”
Ríos said nothing more. He only sent a message.
When we arrived at Torre Escalante, my father was waiting for me on the forty-first floor. Alejandro Escalante was seventy-two years old, but he still commanded respect simply by standing there.
When he saw my face, he stopped being a businessman.
He became a father.
“Mariana…”
He hugged me, and a tear escaped me. Just one. Not for Andrés. For me. For all the years I spent defending a company where I was never wanted.
“I should have intervened sooner,” she whispered.
“No. I had to see it alone.”
Lawyers, accountants, auditors, and Julia Mena, the woman who had suspected for years that there was a black hole at Grupo Armenta, were already in the boardroom.
Julia placed a tablet in front of me.
“Andrés tried to move funds fifteen minutes ago.”
“To where?”
“To a personal account belonging to Brenda Solís.”
My stomach sank.
Julia changed the screen.
“It’s not the first time. Rent, trips, jewelry, surgeries, the down payment on an apartment in Polanco. All paid for with accounts linked to the company.”
“Since when?”
“Fourteen months.”
Fourteen months.
While I was organizing dinners, asking suppliers for patience and smiling next to Andrés, he was financing another life with the woman who looked at me like a thief that night.
