“Mr. Hector Torres, we need to speak with you regarding a complaint of unauthorized account access, fraudulent use of payment methods, and withdrawal of funds,” he said.
Hector let out a short, contemptuous laugh.
—She’s my wife. This is a domestic matter.
“No,” I cut in before Medina could respond.
“It’s my personal account. My company. My money.
And I never gave you permission.”
The inspector nodded, as if he’d seen this scene countless times before, and asked for his documents.
Hector tried to step toward the living room, buying time…
and then Marisol appeared on my phone screen.
She had left it connected in case he tried exactly what he was doing:
denying, minimizing, pretending customs mattered more than the law.
“Hector,” Marisol’s voice came through the loudspeaker,
“you’ve used a card issued to Morales Gestión SA, accessed someone else’s credentials, and moved money from Elena’s private account. Don’t make this more complicated than it already is.”
For the first time, I saw a flicker of fear in him.
Small… barely a crack in his eyes.
But it was there. Even so, he tried to keep up appearances.
—She always allowed it.
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