Chapter 7 - The Marriage Was Part of the Deal
“I did not sign that.”
My voice sounded strangely calm.
Rafael nodded. “I know.”
Alejandro looked at him. “How can you know?”
“Because I refused to notarize it.”
He opened another file.
“The waiver came to me through De la Vega counsel. I demanded Valeria appear in person. Two days later, I was told the family had used another notary.”
I looked at Alejandro.
He had gone pale.
“What?” I asked.
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“There was a document.”
My stomach dropped.
“What document?”
“About eighteen months ago. My mother brought papers to the house. She said they were standard marital disclosures connected to Dad’s refinancing.”
“And?”
“You were in Monterrey.”
“I remember.”
“I signed my part.”
I felt anger rise slowly.
“Did you see my signature?”
“Yes.”
“Did you call me?”
“No.”
“Did you ask whether I had signed it?”
“No.”
There are betrayals that come with shouting.
This one arrived in a whisper.
Alejandro had not forged my name.
He had simply accepted a forged version of me because asking the real woman was inconvenient.
Beatriz entered the room ten minutes later after my father’s security brought her from the lobby.
I put the waiver in front of her.
She stared at it.
“Who signed my name?”
“I don’t know.”
“Wrong answer.”
“I said I don’t know.”
“Who arranged the notary?”
Her silence answered.
Alejandro stepped toward her. “Mom.”
She closed her eyes.
“Your father.”
“Why?”
“Because if Valeria exercised those rights, the family would lose control.”
I almost laughed.
“So you spent years telling me I was lucky to be a De la Vega because you were afraid I legally owned part of the company?”
Her face tightened.
“I was afraid of what would happen if you learned how much leverage your mother had left you.”
“That is not fear. That is theft.”
Beatriz looked at me with something close to desperation.
“You think your father’s world is clean because the buildings are taller. It is not. Lucía knew that. She was trying to get you out.”
“Out of what?”
“The same system Federico was trapped in.”
I stepped closer. “What system?”
She looked at Arturo.
My father’s expression had gone flat.
“Say it,” he said.
Beatriz swallowed.
“Santa Lucía was not just a De la Vega project.”
Nobody moved.
“It was a joint structure,” she continued. “Federico, Ignacio, and someone inside the Mendoza family.”
I looked at Dad.
“Who?”
Beatriz shook her head.
“I never knew.”
Then Mariana called.
The notary who certified my forged waiver had been located.
He had missed work for five days.
His apartment was empty.
His phone was off.
And according to border records, he had not left Mexico.
But his car had been found that morning outside an abandoned warehouse owned by Lirio Azul Holdings.
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