Chương 12
He stood.
“I’m not sleeping.”
“Neither am I.”
At two fifteen, Daniel sent another message.
Found Tomás in old incident file.
Need to talk at seven.
I replied, Seven.
Then I opened Sergio Beltrán’s scanned statement again.
Tomás gave the card to me and said Alejandro had approved it.
A small sentence.
Easy to dismiss when isolated.
Now it sat beside an undisclosed shell company, Teresa’s visitor logs, the missing badge, an old Toluca dispute, and my mother-in-law’s sudden interest in a document box from her dead husband’s failed business.
The pattern was still not a pattern.
Not yet.
But the pieces had stopped feeling random.
Alejandro was standing at the study window.
“What was my father like the two times you met him?” he asked.
The question surprised me.
“Sick.”
“Before that.”
“I didn’t know him before that.”
“You must have had an impression.”
I thought carefully.
“He was quiet.”
“He wasn’t usually.”
“He watched people.”
“That sounds like him.”
“He asked me how many trucks Ruta Norte owned.”
Alejandro turned.
“What did you say?”
“Twelve.”
“That long ago?”
“Yes.”
“He asked me later whether you owned or leased them.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
“He liked business.”
“That’s not much of an answer.”
“No.”
He leaned one shoulder against the wall.
“He also thought you were going to fail.”
I almost laughed.
“So did half of Querétaro.”
“He said logistics margins were too thin for someone without family money.”
“That sounds more specific.”
“He could be specific when he was being insulting.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That you’d already survived worse than thin margins.”
I looked at him.
“You defended me?”
“Sometimes.”
“That would have been useful information.”
He smiled faintly.
“You didn’t need me to tell you.”
There it was again.
The belief that because I looked strong, support was optional.
I did not say it.
Not then.
He sat on the edge of the small sofa.
“Do you think he did something to your bid?”
“I think there is a letter connecting his lawyer to a private matter involving the Toluca proposal.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I hated him for almost a year before he died.”
I stayed quiet.
“He borrowed money from me.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
“For the company?”
“He said so.”
“Did you get it back?”
“Some.”
“Did Teresa know?”
“She arranged the transfer.”
I turned toward him.
“What?”
“She called me crying because they were behind on something.”
“Taxes?”
“I don’t know.”
“Suppliers?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you send it to your father?”
“No.”
“To whom?”
He stared at the floor.
“To an account my mother gave me.”
My stomach tightened.
“Whose account?”
“I never checked.”
“Do you still have the transfer record?”
“Probably.”
“Personal bank?”
“Yes.”
“How long ago?”
“About eight years.”
“Can you access statements that old?”
“Maybe online.”
He pulled out his phone.
I stopped him.
“Not here.”
He looked confused.
“Why?”
“Because if that account connects to any of this, we should preserve the record properly.”
“You think checking my own bank statement contaminates evidence?”
“No.”
“I think we need to stop behaving like frightened amateurs.”
He stared at me.
Then he nodded slowly.
“That includes you.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean it.”
“So do I.”
He stood.
“You almost fired me tonight.”
The sentence came quietly.
“I almost made a decision for the wrong reason.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t.”
“Because Daniel stopped you.”
“Yes.”
He looked away.
“That matters.”
I hated how much it mattered.
“I know.”
The first gray light began to show behind the curtains before either of us noticed.
At five thirty, the housekeeper texted that she was on her way.
I told her not to come.
She replied with a thumbs-up and then, a minute later, asked if everyone was okay.
I typed yes.
Then deleted it.
Family emergency, I wrote instead.
She sent a red heart.
Alejandro saw it.
“You lied less the second time.”
“Progress.”
At six fifteen, I showered and changed into a navy suit.
Not armor.
Just clothes.
That distinction mattered to me more than it should have.
When I came downstairs, Alejandro had showered too.
He wore yesterday’s trousers and a clean shirt from the closet.
No tie.
“Are you going to the office?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“I need to be there.”
“You are part of the review.”
“I am still vice president.”
“For the next forty-five minutes, maybe.”
He absorbed that without flinching.
“You already decided.”
“No.”
“Then why say that?”
“Because you need to understand what today could look like.”
“I do.”
“Do you?”
He stepped closer.
“I may be suspended.”
“Yes.”
“I may lose access.”
“Yes.”
“I may lose the company car.”
“Yes.”
“I may lose my job.”
“Yes.”
He swallowed.
“And the house?”
I stared at him.
He looked almost embarrassed.
“If we separate.”
The question hurt more than I expected.
“The house was mine before the marriage.”
“I know.”
“I’m not throwing you onto the street today.”
“I didn’t ask for mercy.”
“Then don’t make it sound like I offered it.”
We stood in the hallway facing each other.
A marriage could hold an astonishing amount of hostility without actually ending.
That morning, ours felt stretched to the point where I could almost hear it.
My phone rang.
Daniel.
I answered.
“You’re early.”
“So are you.”
“What did you find?”
“Tomás appeared in two fuel-card incidents before Sergio.”
I glanced at Alejandro.
“Two?”
“Yes.”
“And nobody flagged the pattern?”
“Different regions.”
“Who approved the closures?”
“One was regional.”
“And the other?”
Daniel was silent for half a beat.
“Alejandro.”
Alejandro heard.
His face tightened.
Daniel continued.
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“Grupo Marea’s first capitalization deposit came from an account ending in four-one-eight-six.”
“That meant nothing to me.
Alejandro, however, went completely still.
“What?” I said.
He looked at me.
His voice had almost disappeared.
“That was my father’s business account.”
May you like
Daniel’s silence told me he had heard him.
“Can you prove that?” I asked.
