Chapter 4: The Secret Hidden in My Father's Company
The envelope felt heavier than it should have.
I stood outside Camila's recovery room, staring at my name written in her familiar handwriting.
Alejandro stood beside me.
Neither of us spoke.
Finally, I tore it open.
Inside were three documents, a small USB drive, and a photograph of my father standing beside a man I hadn't seen in six years.
Alejandro Serrano.
I looked at the photograph again.
My father was smiling. Alejandro was holding a folder. Behind them stood the entrance to Villarreal Construction, the company I now controlled.
The photograph was dated six years earlier.
Three months before I accused Alejandro of stealing millions from our company.
"What is this?"" I demanded.
Alejandro didn't look surprised.
"Evidence.""
"Evidence of what?""
"That your father knew where the missing money went.""
I stared at him.
"My father?""
"Yes.""
"That's impossible. He was dead before the investigation began.""
"He was alive when the money disappeared.""
I opened the first document.
It was a financial transfer record.
Several payments had been made from a company account to an offshore holding company. The transactions were authorized by someone using my father's executive credentials.
The total was nearly twelve million dollars.
I recognized the account number.
It belonged to a private investment company I had inherited.
But the signature at the bottom wasn't my father's.
It was mine.
I read it again.
Then a third time.
"That's not my signature.""
Alejandro leaned closer.
"Look at the date.""
I did.
The transfer had been authorized two weeks after my father's funeral.
I felt my stomach tighten.
"Someone forged it.""
"That's what I thought.""
"Who had access to my signature?""
Alejandro didn't answer.
I looked at the second document.
It was an internal audit report from the same period.
A red circle surrounded one sentence.
The transfer instructions originated from the office of the acting chief executive.
I had been the acting chief executive.
I remembered that period.
The company was struggling. I was barely sleeping. My father had left behind a mountain of unfinished projects and financial obligations.
Alejandro had been managing the accounts while I handled negotiations.
Then twelve million dollars disappeared.
The bank froze our credit lines.
Our suppliers threatened lawsuits.
I panicked.
And when an anonymous email suggested Alejandro had transferred the money, I believed it.
Or perhaps I had wanted to believe it.
Because blaming him was easier than admitting that I had lost control of my father's company.
"Who sent this to Camila?"" I asked.
Alejandro crossed his arms.
"She found it.""
"Where?""
"Your father's old office.""
I shook my head.
"That office was cleared years ago.""
"Not completely.""
He pointed toward the photograph.
"Your father kept a private filing cabinet behind the bookshelves. Camila found the key inside his desk.""
I looked at the third document.
It was a handwritten letter.
My father's handwriting.
I recognized the sharp angles of every word.
Mateo,
If you're reading this, I probably didn't get the chance to explain what happened to the company funds.
I made a decision that I believed would protect our family. I transferred money into a private account to cover obligations that could have destroyed everything.
I intended to return it before anyone noticed.
But I made a mistake.
I stopped reading.
My hands had begun to shake.
The letter continued.
Alejandro discovered the transfers. He threatened to expose me unless I corrected the records. I asked him for time.
When I became ill, I realized I might not survive long enough to fix what I had done.
I left instructions with someone I trusted.
The final paragraph was underlined.
If Mateo ever learns about this, make sure he understands that Alejandro never stole from us. He protected this family when I failed to protect it myself.
I lowered the letter.
The hallway seemed to tilt.
For six years, I had carried a hatred that wasn't even mine to carry.
I had destroyed a friendship.
I had ruined a man's reputation.
And I had done it to protect a lie.
"Why didn't you show me this before?"" I whispered.
Alejandro's expression hardened.
"I tried.""
"When?""
"At your office. Before you filed the lawsuit.""
I remembered that day.
He had stood in front of my desk, holding a folder.
I had refused to read it.
I had called security.
I had told him that if he came near my family or business again, I would make sure he never worked in Monterrey.
He had left without arguing.
I swallowed.
"You should have fought harder.""
Alejandro looked at me for a long moment.
"Do you know what the worst part was?""
I said nothing.
"It wasn't losing the company. It wasn't the lawsuits or the newspapers calling me a thief.""
He stepped closer.
"It was watching Camila defend you when you didn't deserve it.""
I looked away.
"She told everyone you were under pressure. She said you were grieving your father and that you would eventually realize your mistake.""
His voice dropped.
"She believed there was still a decent man somewhere inside you.""
I couldn't answer.
Before I could ask anything else, the recovery-room door opened.
A nurse appeared.
"Mr. Villarreal, your wife is ready to speak with you.""
I entered alone.
Camila was awake, though her face was pale and exhausted.
Her eyes moved toward the documents in my hand.
"You found them.""
I pulled a chair beside her bed.
"Camila, why didn't you tell me?""
She gave a tired smile.
"I did.""
I looked down.
She continued.
"I told you when I found the first bank statement. You were getting dressed for a meeting. You said we would discuss it later.""
I remembered.
She had stood near our bedroom door holding a folder.
I had kissed her cheek without looking at the papers.
"That was six weeks ago," she whispered.
"After that, I stopped trying.""
I took her hand.
"I'm sorry.""
She looked at our joined hands.
"Are you sorry because you finally believe Alejandro, or because you think I'm going to leave?""
The question cut deeper than I expected.
"Both.""
Camila slowly withdrew her hand.
"At least you're honest.""
I leaned forward.
"Tell me about the money.""
She looked toward the window.
"Your father didn't steal it for himself. He used it to cover a debt connected to a private construction project. But someone else controlled the account.""
"Who?""
She shook her head.
"I don't know everything. That's what I was trying to find out.""
"Why did you involve Alejandro?""
"Because he was the only person who understood the original financial records.""
I rubbed my face.
"And the documents you mentioned? What inheritance?""
Camila's expression changed.
For the first time since I entered the room, she looked genuinely afraid.
"Mateo, your father left something for our son.""
I frowned.
"What?""
"A trust.""
I stared at her.
"What kind of trust?""
"A substantial one. It was established before he died, but the beneficiary was never officially identified.""
"Why would my father leave money to an unborn child?""
"Because he knew you might one day make the same mistakes he did.""
I felt a chill.
Camila continued.
"He wanted his grandson to have something that couldn't be taken away by a business dispute, a failed marriage, or a reckless decision.""
I glanced at the envelope.
"How much?""
"Approximately twenty-eight million dollars, depending on the current value of the investments.""
I stared at her.
Twenty-eight million.
My father had left an inheritance for a child who hadn't even been born.
"Where is it?""
"That's the problem.""
She swallowed.
"The trust was supposed to become active when the baby was born. But someone submitted a legal amendment three months ago.""
"Who?""
Camila looked directly at me.
"Your signature appears on it.""
I felt the blood drain from my face.
"That's impossible.""
"That's what I thought.""
"Did I sign something without reading it?""
She didn't answer.
Then she whispered:
"Mateo, someone used your identity to redirect your son's inheritance.""
Before I could speak, a doctor entered.
"Mrs. Villarreal, we need to examine you.""
I stood.
"Can I stay?""
"Only for a moment.""
Camila caught my wrist.
"Mateo.""
I leaned toward her.
"Yes?""
"Don't trust anyone who tells you this is just about money.""
Her eyes moved toward the door.
"Your father wasn't the only person involved.""
The doctor gently asked me to step outside.
As I left, I saw Alejandro waiting in the corridor.
He had a phone in his hand.
His expression was grim.
"What happened?"" I asked.
He turned the screen toward me.
A message had just arrived from an unknown number.
Stop digging into the Villarreal trust. The child was never supposed to inherit anything.
A second message appeared.
And if you want your wife to survive, leave the past buried.
I looked at Alejandro.
May you like
For the first time that night, he seemed genuinely frightened.
"Mateo," he said quietly, "I think someone knows we're here.""
