Chapter 7 - What Julián Knew About My Father
The forged sale changed everything.
Until then, Carmen’s behavior could be described as cruelty, manipulation, or family politics.
A false contract was different.
Sofía called the corporate registry.
Then another lawyer.
Then a notary.
My father sat beside me, strangely calm.
“You should be angrier,” I said.
“I am.”
“You don’t look angry.”
“I repair motors for a living.”
I stared at him.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“When a motor starts making a terrible noise, hitting it rarely helps.”
Clara laughed.
Even Álvaro did.
Dad shrugged.
“You figure out which part failed.”
I smiled despite myself.
Then I looked at him.
“And which part failed here?”
He looked toward Julián.
“Trust.”
Julián absorbed that without defending himself.
The forged purchase agreement listed the buyer as a company called Castilla Heritage Partners.
Sofía traced its ownership through two entities.
The third link disappeared behind a private trust.
But its registered address matched the office building used by Carmen’s brother.
Álvaro paced.
“Call the police.”
Sofía shook her head.
“We need to verify whether the digital signature was forged.”
“My father says he didn’t sign it.”
“That is evidence. We also need technical records.”
Dad raised a hand.
“What happens to the shares while this is disputed?”
“They should be frozen once we file notice.”
“Should?”
“The system may process the transfer before the challenge is recorded.”
“How long?”
“Possibly one business day.”
It was Friday.
That mattered.
A transfer processed before Monday could create chaos.
Julián stared at the screen.
“There is a board meeting tomorrow.”
Álvaro stopped pacing.
“Saturday?”
“Special meeting.”
“For what?”
Julián looked uncomfortable.
“Sale of the western property.”
Sofía stared.
“The land involved in the 2011 guarantee?”
“Yes.”
Everything connected.
If someone obtained Dad’s shares before the meeting, control could shift.
“How much is the land worth?” I asked.
“Approximately twelve million euros.”
Clara whispered, “Good Lord.”
Julián sat down.
“I received notice yesterday.”
“Who called the meeting?” Álvaro asked.
“Carmen.”
“She can do that?”
“As a director, yes, with another director’s support.”
“Who supported her?”
“Esteban.”
Of course.
I looked at my father.
“Were you invited?”
“No.”
Sofía’s expression sharpened.
“If he owns eighteen percent, depending on the bylaws, he may have had notice rights.”
“He never exercised voting rights,” Julián said.
“Non-use does not necessarily eliminate them.”
I thought about the head table again.
Nine seats.
Álvaro’s family displayed publicly.
My parents pushed away.
Symbolic.
But maybe Carmen had been living inside that symbolism for years.
She genuinely believed only one family belonged at the center.
Even when the documents said otherwise.
Julián stood.
“There is something else.”
Álvaro sighed.
“Of course there is.”
His father ignored the sarcasm.
“I knew Martín had shares.”
Dad looked at him.
“You said you knew.”
“No. I mean I knew the full eighteen percent was still valid.”
Carmen’s secrecy had not been the only secrecy.
Álvaro stared at his father.
“Since when?”
“2014.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Julián almost laughed.
“You see the family habit.”
Álvaro looked toward me.
I said nothing.
Julián continued.
“I found a shareholder ledger after my father died. Martín’s interest was clearly listed.”
Dad frowned.
“Why didn’t you contact me?”
“I did.”
“No.”
“I sent a letter to your old address.”
Dad thought.
“The apartment on Calle Ávila?”
“Yes.”
“We moved in 2009.”
“I didn’t know.”
“So you tried once?”
Julián looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
My father stared at him.
“Then what?”
“Carmen told me she had contacted you later.”
Dad’s expression changed.
“She never did.”
Silence.
Julián sat.
For several seconds no one spoke.
Then he rubbed his forehead.
“She told me you wanted no involvement. That you considered the shares symbolic and had no intention of participating.”
Dad gave a humorless smile.
“Convenient.”
“Yes.”
“When did you learn that wasn’t true?”
“Today.”
I looked at Julián.
“You believed your wife for twelve years.”
“Yes.”
“Without checking.”
“Yes.”
I expected Dad to be angry.
Instead he asked, “Why?”
Julián stared at him.
“Because trusting her was easier.”
That sentence landed harder than any accusation.
Because I understood it.
Álvaro did too.
Maybe that was the real disease in the Mendoza family.
Not one controlling woman.
A collection of people who let her control things because challenging her required discomfort.
Álvaro sat beside his father.
“Did Grandfather know?”
“About Carmen telling me she contacted Martín? I don’t know.”
“What about the 2011 loan?”
Julián was silent.
“Dad.”
“I knew Esteban needed money.”
“How much?”
“I was told six hundred thousand.”
“The document says 2.2 million.”
“I know that now.”
“Did you sign anything?”
“No.”
“Did Carmen?”
“I don’t know.”
Dad asked quietly, “What did Eduardo say before he died?”
Julián looked at him.
“About you?”
“Yes.”
For the first time, Julián smiled.
“He called you the stubborn mechanic.”
Dad laughed softly.
“That sounds like him.”
“He said there were two kinds of rich men. Men who possessed money and men who could afford to walk away from it.”
Dad looked down.
“He said you were the second.”
Mom touched Dad’s hand.
I almost cried again.
Carmen had looked at my father’s suit and seen poverty.
Eduardo had looked at the same man and seen freedom.
Sofía’s phone rang.
She listened.
Then opened her laptop.
“Good. Send it.”
She hung up.
“The registry has placed a provisional block on the transfer.”
Álvaro exhaled.
“Good.”
“But there is a complication.”
Of course.
“The electronic signature appears valid.”
Dad stared.
“What?”
“The certificate used is registered to you.”
“I have never used an electronic certificate for corporate transactions.”
“Do you have one?”
“I have a government digital ID.”
Sofía nodded.
“Same infrastructure.”
My father’s face hardened.
“Someone used my credentials.”
“Potentially.”
“When?”
“The signature was generated at 2:13 this afternoon.”
We were all together at 2:13.
That was good.
A perfect alibi.
“Can they trace the device?”
“Eventually.”
Clara frowned.
“Who has access to Martín’s digital certificate?”
Dad shook his head.
“Nobody.”
Mom suddenly moved.
Her chair scraped.
“Martín.”
He looked at her.
“What?”
“The envelope.”
“What envelope?”
“Last month. The tax papers.”
Dad frowned.
Then his face changed.
My mother turned toward me.
“Carmen came to our house.”
The room went silent.
“When?” I asked.
“Six weeks ago.”
“What did she want?”
“She said she needed copies of your father’s identification for the wedding property paperwork.”
Dad stood.
“You never told me that.”
“She said Álvaro had asked.”
Álvaro’s face turned white.
“I didn’t.”
Mom put a hand over her mouth.
“I gave her a copy of his ID.”
Sofía asked sharply, “Anything else?”
“A document from the tax office.”
“What document?”
“It had a code.”
Dad closed his eyes.
His digital identity recovery code.
Carmen had not improvised today.
She had prepared.
Weeks ago.
Maybe months.
Álvaro picked up his phone.
“I’m calling her again.”
Before he could, my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Hello?”
A man spoke.
“Elena Ruiz?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Esteban Salazar.”
Carmen’s brother.
Álvaro looked at me.
I put the call on speaker.
Esteban continued.
“I think you and I should talk before tomorrow’s meeting.”
“About what?”
He paused.
“About the reason Carmen is terrified of your father.”
May you like
Then he said:
“And it isn’t the eighteen percent.”
