Chapter 3 - THE COMPANY WITH MY NAME ON IT
Gabriel arrived forty minutes later with Elena Brooks.
Fernanda was still sitting at my table.
Gabriel stopped when he saw her.
"Why is she here?"
"Long story."
"I'm Fernanda."
"I know who you are."
His tone made it clear that was not a compliment.
Elena went directly to the documents.
She wore gray slacks, a black blouse, and the expression of someone who considered financial statements more interesting than human beings.
Within ten minutes, she had organized everything into piles.
"Don't touch these unnecessarily."
Fernanda frowned.
"They're paper."
"They may become evidence."
That shut her up.
Elena studied Mendoza Strategic Holdings.
"Did you create this?"
"No."
"Authorize Mauricio to use your surname?"
"No."
"Authorize your apartment as a registered business address?"
"No."
"Do you recognize this email?"
She pointed.
valeria.mendoza.consulting—
"No."
"Phone number?"
"No."
Elena looked at Gabriel.
"We need to contact the agent."
Gabriel nodded.
The call happened at 11:26.
Special Agent Rebecca Hale joined by video.
She was probably in her early forties, with dark hair and a calm expression.
Gabriel did most of the talking.
Hale asked how I knew Mauricio.
"Husband."
"Current?"
"Unfortunately."
Fernanda snorted.
Gabriel gave her a look.
I continued.
"Divorce petition filed."
"How long married?"
"Four months."
"How long together before that?"
"Almost three years."
"Did Mr. Salazar ever discuss Mendoza Strategic Holdings?"
"No."
"Did you authorize him to form businesses using your personal information?"
"No."
"Did you authorize loan applications?"
"No."
"Did you authorize him to represent that your apartment would secure any financing?"
"No."
Hale took notes.
Then:
"Ms. Mendoza, have you ever met a man named Victor Salazar?"
I looked at Fernanda.
She looked equally confused.
"No."
"Related to Mauricio?"
Fernanda answered.
"Our uncle."
Hale's eyes moved toward her.
"And you are?"
"Fernanda Salazar. Mauricio's sister."
"Is Victor your father's brother?"
"Yes."
"Where is he?"
Fernanda hesitated.
"Mexico, I think."
"When did you last see him?"
"Maybe six years ago."
Agent Hale nodded.
"Ms. Mendoza, one of the entities connected to your husband's financial activity has received transfers from a company associated with Victor Salazar."
"How much?"
"I can't discuss all details."
"Why are you talking to me?"
"Because your name and property information appeared in records obtained during an unrelated investigation."
Unrelated.
That word scared me.
"So you were already investigating Mauricio?"
"I didn't say that."
Of course she didn't.
Gabriel stepped in.
"What exactly do you need from my client?"
"At this stage, voluntary cooperation. Confirmation that certain documents and signatures were not authorized."
"She's willing to cooperate through counsel."
"Good."
Then Agent Hale looked directly at me.
"Ms. Mendoza, has your husband ever asked you to sign blank documents?"
"No."
"Electronic signature authorizations?"
"No."
"Has he had access to your passport?"
"Apparently."
"Do you travel internationally?"
"For work sometimes."
"Has he ever asked you to open accounts abroad?"
"No."
My heartbeat increased.
"Agent Hale, what are you investigating?"
She paused.
"I can't answer that fully."
"Am I under investigation?"
"No."
The speed of her answer helped.
"Do you believe Mauricio used my identity?"
"We are examining documents suggesting he intended to use your financial profile to support transactions."
"Intended?"
"Some transactions appear incomplete."
Relief.
Small.
Temporary.
Then she added:
"Others require verification."
There it was.
After the call, Fernanda ran to the bathroom and threw up.
I stood outside the door.
Despite everything, I felt sorry for her.
Not enough to forget.
Enough to understand.
When she came out, her face was pale.
"Did Mauricio use my identity too?"
"I don't know."
"Mom's?"
"I don't know."
Fernanda started crying.
"He paid my car."
"Yes."
"He said it was because he was doing well."
"He wasn't."
"My condo."
I looked at her.
"What about it?"
"I thought it was a gift."
"From who?"
"Mom and Mauricio."
"With what money?"
She covered her face.
"I didn't ask."
That sentence could have belonged to me.
Different context.
Same mistake.
We believe what benefits us until the cost becomes impossible to ignore.
"Fernanda."
She looked up.
"You need your own lawyer."
"Why?"
"Because Gabriel represents me."
Her face collapsed.
"You think I'm involved?"
"I think you need somebody whose only job is protecting you."
Gabriel nodded.
"She's right."
By evening, Fernanda had left.
She took nothing.
The documents stayed with us.
At six, Mauricio called from another number.
I answered with Gabriel beside me.
"Valeria."
"You have thirty seconds."
"What did Fernanda give you?"
"Interesting opening."
"She stole things."
"Documents with my identity on them aren't exactly private to me."
"You're misunderstanding."
"Twenty seconds."
"Mendoza Strategic Holdings was temporary."
My hand tightened around the phone.
"So you admit you created it."
"It was for tax planning."
"Using my name?"
"It's our family name."
"No. Mendoza is my family name."
Silence.
"Did you forge my signature?"
"No."
"Did you copy it?"
"Valeria—"
"Did you?"
"I needed examples for paperwork."
Examples.
I nearly laughed.
"Did you submit anything?"
"No."
Gabriel wrote something on a legal pad.
I asked:
"Why did the FBI contact me?"
Silence.
There.
Mauricio knew.
"You knew they were looking."
"I knew there were questions."
"What questions?"
"My uncle had business problems."
"Victor?"
Silence again.
"How much money did you receive from him?"
"None."
Too fast.
"You're lying."
"Stop letting Gabriel poison you."
I looked at my attorney.
He rolled his eyes.
"Mauricio, Gabriel didn't create a fake company with my surname."
"Neither did I."
"You just admitted you created it."
"I didn't say fake."
"Goodbye."
"Valeria, wait."
"What?"
His voice changed.
For the first time, he sounded afraid.
"If the government talks to you, you need to understand something."
"What?"
"My mother had nothing to do with it."
I froze.
Not "I had nothing to do with it."
His mother.
Again.
"What did you do?"
"I was trying to fix debts."
"How?"
"Investments."
"Whose money?"
Silence.
"Mauricio."
"Victor handled it."
"Handled what?"
"Transfers."
Gabriel pointed at the phone and shook his head.
Stop.
I understood.
"I have to go."
"Valeria."
I disconnected.
That night, I received an email from Teresa.
Not a call.
Not a voicemail.
An email.
Subject line:
PLEASE READ BEFORE YOU DESTROY MY SON.
I almost deleted it.
Instead, I opened it.
Teresa wrote that Mauricio had always been "ambitious."
That after his father's death, he felt responsible for the family.
That Victor had offered him business opportunities.
That things went wrong.
Then came the sentence that made my stomach turn.
Mauricio told me marrying you would finally give him the financial stability necessary to repair everything.
I read it again.
Not that marrying me made him happy.
Not that he loved me.
Financial stability.
Teresa continued:
That doesn't mean he didn't love you.
Apparently even she understood what her first sentence sounded like.
Then:
He said once you were married long enough, you would understand that your assets belonged to the family.
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
Written.
Clear.
I forwarded the email to Gabriel.
Then I read the final paragraph.
Please do not tell Mauricio I told you this. He has become desperate, and desperate men do foolish things.
I stared at those words.
Desperate men.
My husband.
The man who had slept beside me.
The man who knew where I worked.
The man whose family had tried to condition me into obedience.
For the first time since leaving, my fear was no longer financial.
I called Gabriel.
"I don't want Mauricio knowing where I'm staying."
"He won't."
"Fernanda found me."
"Through your mother."
"I need to talk to my mother."
"Do it carefully."
I called her.
She answered on the first ring.
"Valeria?"
"Why did you tell Mauricio where I was?"
Silence.
"Mom."
"He said you were having some kind of breakdown."
My blood went cold.
"What?"
"He said you had become paranoid and left the apartment."
"Did he tell you I filed for divorce?"
"No."
"Did he tell you about the debt?"
"What debt?"
I sat down.
Of course.
Mauricio had already started another story.
One where I was unstable.
One where he was concerned.
One where my leaving wasn't self-protection.
It was evidence that something was wrong with me.
"Mom, listen carefully."
I told her enough.
Not everything.
By the time I finished, she was crying.
"I didn't know."
"I know."
"I'm sorry."
"Do not tell him anything about me again."
"I won't."
"Not where I am. Not where I'm going. Nothing."
"I promise."
Then she said:
"Valeria?"
"Yes?"
"He asked me another question."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
"He asked whether your father left you any property besides the apartment."
I went completely still.
My father had.
A small commercial building in San Antonio.
It had been sold two years earlier.
The proceeds were in an investment account Mauricio did not know existed.
At least I had believed he didn't.
"Did you tell him?"
"No."
Relief hit.
Then my mother said:
"But he already seemed to know there was something."
I looked at the documents spread across the table.
This was no longer about whether Mauricio wanted access to my apartment.
May you like
He had been mapping my entire financial life.
And I suddenly wanted to know exactly how far he had gotten.
