Chapter 6 - THE WOMAN AT THE GATE
Lucía sat on the front steps while Elena brought her water.
“I thought it was strange,” she said.
“What?”
“They wanted the deposit sent quickly. Mercedes said another couple was ready to take our date.”
“Who received it?”
She opened her banking app.
The recipient was Rivas Events.
Not my company.
Not me.
I photographed the transaction with her permission and gave her Inés’s contact information.
“I won’t pretend I can fix this today,” I said. “But I’ll tell you what I know.”
Her eyes filled.
“We saved for two years.”
I sat beside her.
Through the open door, I could see my mother’s covered dining table.
Two years of Lucía’s life.
Four years of mine.
Mercedes had found a way to spend both.
Tomás returned with his own invoices.
“I called my office,” he said. “There’s something else.”
He handed me an email printout.
Javier had sent it.
My wife prefers not to be involved in operational details. Please direct all questions to me.
Below that was an attached letter supposedly written by me.
It described Mercedes as my authorized property manager.
The language was stiff, formal, and wrong.
I translated contracts for a living.
I never wrote like that.
But strangers didn’t know how I wrote.
They saw my name and assumed permission.
Inés told us to preserve everything and stop contacting Mercedes directly.
We secured the property after the crew collected its tools.
I left a notice with my lawyer’s details for anyone arriving with a booking.
On the drive back, my biggest client called.
“Clara, is there something happening with your business?”
I closed my eyes.
“What have you heard?”
“An anonymous email says you’re under investigation for taking event deposits.”
“Forward it to me. Please.”
The message reached my inbox before we got to Elena’s street.
There were screenshots.
My name on the restaurant reservation.
My company on the financing documents.
A photograph of me leaving the restaurant in a stained dress.
The caption called me drunk.
I enlarged the picture.
It had been taken from Javier’s seat.
Elena pulled over when she saw my face.
“What now?”
I handed her the phone.
She read silently.
Then I noticed the time the email had been sent.
7:06 p.m.
My husband had stopped answering my calls at 7:04.
May you like
Two minutes.
That was all the time he needed to turn humiliation into a business strategy.
