Chapter 8 - THE GHOSTS OF THE PAST
The warning didn't paralyze me; it hardened my resolve. I had spent three years fighting violent storms in the middle of the Atlantic, wrestling with multi-ton marine diesel engines while toxic exhaust burned my lungs. I hadn't survived the brutal solitude of the sea just to be intimidated by a bunch of small-time thugs working for my pathetic brother.
I packed the leather ledger into a heavy steel lockbox, along with copies of my bank transfers, the fraudulent power of attorney documents Roberto had forged, and every piece of evidence I could unearth.
By nine in the morning, Héctor Morales, my attorney, was sitting across from me at the kitchen island, drinking black coffee while he flipped through the pages of the ledger. His eyes widened with every turn of the page.
"Gabriel... this is dynamite," Héctor whispered, looking up over his glasses. "This isn't just civil fraud. This is federal racketeering, extortion, and money laundering. If we hand this over to the federal prosecutor's office in Mexico City, Roberto won't just lose his fancy clothes—he’ll spend the next twenty years in a maximum-security federal prison."
"Make it happen, Héctor," I said coldly, sliding the lockbox across the counter. "I want him hunted down. I don't want him hiding out in some beach resort in Puerto Vallarta living off my stolen sweat."
"It's already in motion," Héctor nodded, closing the lockbox and snapping the latches shut. "And as for the threats you received... I’ll have a private security detail stationed around the perimeter of the property within the hour. No one touches your family."
After Héctor left, I walked upstairs to check on Valeria and Mateo.
Valeria was awake, sitting on the edge of the plush king-sized bed, wearing a clean cotton dress I had found in the guest closet. She looked infinitely better than she had the night before, though her eyes still carried the shadow of the trauma she had endured. Mateo was awake too, playing quietly with a wooden toy train I had brought him in my ruined luggage.
When I walked into the room, Valeria stood up and walked over to me, wrapping her arms around my waist and burying her face in my chest.
"Héctor was here," she murmured softly. "He told me what you found in the office."
"It's over, amor," I stroked her hair gently. "Roberto is finished. He’ll never be able to hurt you again."
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"I know," she pulled back, looking up into my eyes with a quiet strength I had always admired in her. "And I know what else, Gabriel. We aren't staying in this house."
I smiled, feeling a massive weight lift off my shoulders. "Good. Because I was about to suggest the exact same thing."
