Chapter 4 - THIRTY-FIVE THOUSAND PESOS
The forensic accountant’s name was Mateo Ruiz.
He wore plain glasses, spoke quietly, and treated bank statements like witnesses who had been waiting patiently to testify.
Within one week, he reconstructed three years of transfers.
Every month, I sent Carmen thirty-five thousand pesos for Camila’s care.
Carmen spent an average of four thousand on Camila.
Sometimes less.
The rest went elsewhere.
Valeria’s clothing.
Sergio’s car payments.
Roberto’s private club membership.
Restaurant bills.
Beach rentals.
Cosmetic procedures.
And regular transfers into Costa Dorada Experiences.
The family company.
There was no hotel.
No office.
No employees.
Only an Instagram page full of photographs stolen from other resorts and a bank account filled with my money.
Daniel had contributed too.
Not from his salary.
From mine.
He used the household card to make “vendor payments” to companies owned by his relatives.
He inflated utilities.
Invented childcare expenses.
Submitted duplicate grocery costs.
Even Roberto’s medication had been exaggerated.
The medicine cost two thousand pesos each month.
I had been transferring eight thousand.
Carmen kept the difference.
Then Mateo found the life insurance policy.
Not a huge one.
Enough to make me sick.
Daniel had taken out additional coverage on me nine months earlier, claiming it was standard protection because I traveled frequently.
Beneficiary:
Daniel.
Secondary beneficiary:
Costa Dorada Experiences.
“Can a company be listed that way?” I asked.
Mateo adjusted his glasses.
“Not without documentation. Some of these forms appear altered.”
Lucía placed the policy beside the custody file.
One document prepared for my death.
Another for my divorce.
Daniel had built a plan for every version of my disappearance.
All of them ended with his family inside my apartment, spending my money and raising my daughter.
I called him from Lucía’s office.
The call was recorded with counsel present.
“What was the insurance for?”
His breathing changed.
“Protection.”
“For whom?”
“For Camila.”
“Then why was your shell company listed?”
“It wasn’t supposed to be final.”
“Why did Carmen write that a judge would give you everything if Camila looked neglected?”
Silence.
“Daniel.”
“My mother talks too much.”
“Did you know Camila was being denied food?”
“No.”
“Did you know she was locked on the balcony?”
“No.”
“Did you know Valeria was recording her?”
Another silence.
Then he said, “I knew they were trying to document how difficult things had become.”
Things.
Not Camila’s fear.
Not hunger.
Things.
“You used our daughter as evidence against me.”
“I was trying to protect myself.”
That sentence ended our marriage more completely than any court order.
Not protect Camila.
Not protect our family.
Protect himself.
“From what?” I asked.
“You were going to leave eventually.”
“Why?”
“Because you started realizing you didn’t need me.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
Not love.
Need.
May you like
Daniel had not feared losing his wife.
He feared losing access.
