Chapter 6 - The Woman Behind the Money
Police reached Camila’s apartment in nine minutes.
Mariana arrived twelve minutes later.
The door was locked.
The apartment was empty.
No Camila.
No signs of forced entry.
Her phone lay on the kitchen floor.
The balcony door stood open.
Mariana walked toward it.
Seven floors below, police searched the courtyard.
No body.
No blood.
Nothing.
A detective named Javier Ortega stopped Mariana from going outside.
“Mrs. Alvarado, please.”
“Where is she?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“She was on the phone with me.”
“We know.”
“She said someone was outside.”
“Building security claims nobody came through the main entrance.”
“There are service entrances.”
“We’re checking.”
Mariana looked around the apartment.
Camila’s champagne dress from the hotel hung over a chair.
A suitcase sat half-packed on the bed.
She had been planning to leave.
Maybe Mexico City.
Maybe Arturo.
Maybe both.
Detective Ortega held up a plastic evidence bag containing the photograph.
Camila in Houston.
Walking into a bank.
Timestamped three months earlier.
“Do you recognize the person behind her?” he asked.
Mariana looked.
A blurred figure.
Older woman.
Teresa.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“My aunt.”
Ortega wrote the name down.
“And your husband knows her?”
“Yes.”
“Where is Mr. Ledesma?”
“I don’t know.”
Octavio arrived.
He spoke privately with Mariana.
“We found Patricia Salazar.”
“The bank employee?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Houston.”
“What does she know?”
“A lot.”
They called Patricia from Camila’s apartment.
She agreed to speak after Octavio identified himself.
“I remember Ms. Ríos,” Patricia said.
“She delivered a package?”
“Yes.”
“To Teresa Alvarado?”
“Yes.”
“What was inside?”
“I didn’t open it.”
“But?”
“It contained notarized documents.”
“How do you know?”
“Ms. Alvarado reviewed them in front of me.”
Mariana leaned closer to the phone.
“What documents?”
Patricia hesitated.
“An assignment of beneficial interest.”
“In what?”
“EAL Hospitality Partners.”
Mariana looked at Octavio.
“Assigned to whom?”
“Teresa Alvarado.”
Mariana felt her stomach tighten.
“How much?”
“Forty-nine percent.”
“My forty-nine percent.”
Patricia sounded uncomfortable.
“Yes.”
“Using my forged signature.”
“I cannot determine that.”
“Who was with Teresa?”
“A man.”
“Arturo?”
“No.”
Mariana froze.
“Who?”
“I don’t know his name.”
“Describe him.”
“Mid-sixties. Gray hair. Tall.”
Octavio’s face changed.
Mariana saw it.
“You know.”
He looked away.
“Octavio.”
Patricia continued:
“Teresa called him Raúl.”
Mariana stared.
“That’s impossible.”
Patricia fell silent.
Octavio whispered:
“Raúl Ledesma died fifteen years ago.”
Patricia answered carefully.
“I don’t know who he was. I only know what she called him.”
The call ended.
Mariana sat down.
Arturo’s father.
Alive?
Or someone using his name?
Detective Ortega had overheard enough to become interested.
“We need to find your husband.”
Mariana nodded.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Arturo.
COME HOME.
She stared.
Octavio read over her shoulder.
“No.”
Mariana typed nothing.
Another message arrived.
WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT CAMILA.
Detective Ortega took the phone.
“Let us handle this.”
Mariana looked at him.
“If he has her—”
“We don’t know that.”
“He knows where she lives.”
“So does whoever photographed her in Houston.”
Mariana thought of Teresa.
“Can you trace his phone?”
“We’re starting that process.”
Another message arrived.
ASK OCTAVIO WHO RAÚL REALLY WAS.
Mariana slowly looked at her attorney.
He had gone pale.
“What does that mean?”
Octavio sat down.
“I should have told you years ago.”
“Told me what?”
“Raúl Ledesma wasn’t Arturo’s biological father.”
Mariana stared.
“What?”
“He raised Arturo. But he wasn’t his father.”
“Who was?”
Octavio closed his eyes.
“I don’t know for certain.”
“You do.”
“I suspect.”
“Who?”
“Efraín.”
Mariana could not breathe.
“My father?”
“I said I don’t know.”
“You think my father was Arturo’s father?”
“There were rumors.”
“Then Arturo would be my—”
“No.”
Octavio raised a hand.
“No. Arturo’s mother met Efraín years before your father met your mother. There is no proof.”
Mariana stood so quickly the chair tipped.
“Did Arturo know?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Teresa?”
“Almost certainly.”
Suddenly everything changed shape.
Arturo’s obsession with the Alvarado name.
Teresa.
Raúl.
The old loan.
The forged ownership.
Was Arturo trying to steal the company?
Or reclaim something he believed belonged to him?
Mariana’s phone rang.
Arturo.
Detective Ortega gestured for her to answer on speaker.
Mariana did.
“Where is Camila?”
Arturo sounded confused.
“What?”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“She disappeared.”
Silence.
Then:
“Mariana, listen to me.”
“Did you go to the archive?”
“Yes.”
Octavio closed his eyes.
“Why?”
“Because Teresa told me the settlement was there.”
“Where are you?”
“At the house.”
“What settlement?”
“The one your father used to erase mine.”
“Your father?”
“Raúl.”
Mariana heard something in his voice.
Not calculation.
Pain.
“Arturo, did you know Raúl wasn’t your biological father?”
Silence.
Then a whisper.
“So Octavio finally told you.”
“You knew.”
“For six months.”
“Who told you?”
“Teresa.”
“What did she tell you?”
“That Efraín Alvarado destroyed my family.”
Mariana closed her eyes.
“And you believed her.”
“She had documents.”
“You forged mine.”
“I was trying to recover what your father stole.”
“You mortgaged my house.”
“Our house.”
“You tried to sell my hotel.”
“The money was supposed to force a settlement.”
“You slept with Camila while doing it.”
Another silence.
“That wasn’t part of any plan.”
“No. That was simply who you chose to be.”
He had no answer.
Then Arturo said:
“Teresa lied to me.”
Mariana looked at the detective.
“How?”
“The page I took from the archive.”
“What does it say?”
“It proves Raúl received the missing money.”
Octavio stood.
“What?”
Arturo continued.
“Your father didn’t steal it. Teresa didn’t steal it.”
“Who did?”
“Raúl.”
Mariana felt dizzy.
“He took the loan money?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did Teresa accuse my father?”
“Because she was working with Raúl.”
Octavio whispered:
“Oh God.”
Arturo’s voice shook.
“I spent six months helping the woman who ruined both our families.”
“Where is Teresa now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is Camila?”
“I told you, I don’t know.”
A noise came through Arturo’s line.
Glass breaking.
He stopped speaking.
“Arturo?”
Nothing.
“Arturo?”
He whispered:
“Someone’s in the house.”
Detective Ortega immediately motioned to officers.
“Get out,” Mariana said.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
Another sound.
Footsteps.
Arturo’s breathing changed.
Then a woman’s voice came through the phone.
Older.
Calm.
Familiar.
“Put the phone down, Arturo.”
Teresa.
Mariana stood.
May you like
“Teresa!”
The line went dead.
