Chapter 4 - The Account I Never Opened
I spent the next morning at the hospital pretending everything was normal.
It wasn't.
Every hallway felt different.
Every unfamiliar face made me look twice.
The eight-year-old boy I had operated on was still alive.
His name was Mateo.
His mother sat beside his bed holding his hand.
When I entered the room, she stood immediately.
“Doctor.”
I smiled.
“He's stable.”
She cried.
I checked the monitors.
His heart was responding.
For the first time since the birthday dinner, I felt something close to peace.
Then I noticed the man standing at the end of the hallway.
Dark jacket.
Baseball cap.
Watching me.
I stepped outside the room.
He turned and walked away.
I followed.
By the time I reached the elevator, he was gone.
My phone vibrated.
A message.
Stop asking questions.
I deleted it.
Then I saved a screenshot.
That afternoon, I met a lawyer recommended by a colleague.
Her name was Sofía Reyes.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she asked one question.
“Did you authorize Álvaro to use your banking device?”
“Yes.”
“Did you authorize him to create a company?”
“No.”
“Did you sign anything?”
“I don't remember.”
She nodded.
“That matters.”
She asked for copies of everything.
Then she told me something I hadn't considered.
“Don't confront him again.”
“Why?”
“Because if someone used your identity to create debt, you need evidence before they know how much you have discovered.”
I nodded.
We began tracing the transfers.
Norte Alto had only one active business account.
Most of the money moved quickly.
Some went to a construction company.
Some went to a private medical clinic.
Some went to luxury vehicle payments.
But one payment stood out.
A transfer for 900,000 pesos.
Recipient:
Clínica Santa Aurelia.
I stared at the name.
“Why would my husband's company pay a medical clinic?”
Sofía looked at me.
“Do you know anyone there?”
“No.”
She clicked another document.
“Actually, you do.”
I leaned closer.
The patient file attached to the transaction contained a name.
Elena Fuentes.
Álvaro's mother.
I felt sick.
His mother's treatment had been expensive.
I knew that.
But Álvaro had told me his father paid for it.
Apparently, he hadn't.
I called Álvaro.
He answered after one ring.
“Mariana.”
“Did my money pay for your mother's treatment?”
Silence.
“Answer me.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“I don't know.”
“Three million?”
“No.”
“Four?”
He said nothing.
I closed my eyes.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because you would have left.”
That sentence hurt.
Not because it was true.
Because he had known exactly what he was doing.
Sofía motioned for me to stay quiet.
I asked:
“Who is Norte Alto really protecting?”
Álvaro whispered:
“Not me.”
“Then who?”
He took a breath.
“Dad.”
I waited.
“Dad borrowed money years ago.”
“From whom?”
“I don't know.”
“You do.”
“No.”
“Álvaro.”
His voice cracked.
“There's a man named Esteban Rojas.”
Sofía looked up sharply.
I saw the reaction.
“You know him?”
She shook her head.
But her face said otherwise.
Álvaro continued.
“Don't search for him.”
“Why?”
“Because he doesn't like being found.”
The line went silent.
Then I heard a sound in the background.
A woman's voice.
“Álvaro, she's going to find out.”
I froze.
“Who was that?”
He hung up.
I looked at Sofía.
“Who is Esteban Rojas?”
She stared at me.
Then she slowly opened another file.
“Someone who has been connected to your father-in-law's business for more than a decade.”
I looked at the documents.
One photograph was attached.
A younger Don Ernesto.
Standing beside another man.
The man from the photograph had the same face as the voice on my phone.
May you like
And underneath the photograph was a handwritten note.
Debt transferred to Mariana Salgado.
