Chapter 8: The Claim That Was Supposed to Destroy Me
The document arrived through Beatriz's lawyer at nine fifteen the following morning.
It was forty-two pages.
Marcos read it in twenty minutes.
Sofia read it in fifteen.
I read the summary Marcos gave me standing in my own hallway with a cup of coffee going cold in my hand.
Beatriz was claiming that I had concealed a business asset during the prenuptial disclosure process.
Specifically, she claimed that a development project in Alicante — a residential complex I had sold three years ago — had been deliberately omitted from my asset declaration.
She claimed the omission was intentional.
She claimed the sale had generated proceeds that were hidden in a subsidiary account and never disclosed.
If the claim held, the concealment clause on page seven would activate.
The prenuptial agreement would be void.
She would be entitled to half of everything.
"Is there any basis for it?" I asked Marcos.
"The Alicante project was disclosed," he said.
"I have the original declaration.
The project is listed on page twelve."
"Then what is she claiming?"
"She's claiming the version of the document she signed did not include page twelve.
She's claiming the page was added after signing."
I set the coffee down on the hall table.
"She's saying I falsified the prenuptial agreement."
"Yes."
"And she has a copy of the document without page twelve."
"She says she does."
I looked at Marcos.
He looked back at me without blinking.
"She had a copy made," I said.
"At some point before she left last night, she had a version of that document prepared without page twelve.
Or she had it prepared long before that and has been holding it."
"That's what Sofia believes."
"Can she make it hold?"
Marcos was quiet for a moment.
"If it were just her word against ours, it would be difficult for either side.
But she has a document.
We have a document.
The question becomes which one a court believes is authentic."
"Then we prove ours is authentic."
"We already have the original on file with the notary who witnessed the signing.
The notary's office holds a certified copy." Marcos allowed himself a small, careful expression that was almost a smile.
"The notary's copy includes page twelve.
It always has."
I breathed out slowly.
"She didn't know about the notary copy," I said.
"It appears not."
"She built her entire plan around a document that has a certified original sitting in a notary's office in Seville."
"Yes."
I picked up my coffee again.
It was cold.
I drank it anyway.
"File the response," I said.
"Use the notary copy.
I want this resolved completely and I want it on record that the document she submitted was fabricated."
"That opens her to a criminal filing," Sofia said from across the hall.
"Document fraud."
"I know."
"Do you want to pursue that?"
I thought about Isabella.
Her bandaged hands.
The way she had looked at the terrace before answering any question, checking whether Beatriz could see her.
"Yes," I said.
"I want to pursue it."
Marcos nodded once.
"I'll make the calls."
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I looked at Marcos.
He nodded.
I answered.
"You moved faster than I expected." The voice was smooth, unhurried.
A man who was used to being the one in control of a room.
"I'm impressed."
"Mendoza," I said.
A pause.
"Beatriz said you were good.
She undersold you."
"What do you want?"
"To offer you a way out of an ugly situation.
The document filing this morning — that gets messy.
Courts, journalists, your company's name in the news for the wrong reasons.
I can make it go away."
"In exchange for what?"
"The Valencia contract.
The development rights you took from me three years ago.
Sign them over.
We walk away.
No court case, no scandal, no more problems with Beatriz."
I let the silence sit for a moment.
"You've been planning this for three years," I said.
"Longer," he said.
"But yes."
"You placed Beatriz in my life deliberately."
"She was a willing participant.
Don't feel too sorry for yourself."
"I don't," I said.
"I'm recording this call."
The line went quiet.
"Goodbye, Mendoza."
I ended the call and looked at Marcos.
"Tell me that was enough," I said.
He was already on his own phone.
May you like
"It's enough," he said.
"More than enough."
