Chapter 7 - The Audit of David Hayes
Over the next forty-eight hours, I transformed from a grieving, betrayed mother into a corporate shark operating with surgical precision. While Chloe rested under the care of a trusted private nurse at the hospital, I spent my nights at the kitchen table surrounded by bank statements, tax returns, land titles, and digital ledgers.
I didn't call a regular family law attorney. I hired Alejandro Garza—the same high-stakes corporate litigator who had helped me dismantle the financial fraud network in my previous corporate battles.
Garza sat across from my kitchen island on Sunday evening, flipping through the printed dossier of San Lucas Holdings and the commercial property lease agreements.
"Well, Mariana," Garza said, removing his reading glasses and looking at me with undisguised professional respect. "Your husband isn't just a garden-variety deadbeat. He is a textbook white-collar embezzler. By using your power of attorney to divert commercial rental income into a secret trust without your consent or knowledge, he committed felony fraud across multiple jurisdictions."
"Can we freeze the accounts?" I asked, leaning over the table.
"Not only can we freeze them, but we can also attach an emergency restraining order against every single asset registered under his name or San Lucas Holdings," Garza replied, pulling a sleek tablet from his briefcase. "Under Mexican family and civil law, because these funds were derived from your pre-marital inheritance property and diverted through fraudulent misrepresentation, we can demand immediate restitution, asset forfeiture, and full custody terms without him ever seeing a dime of settlement."
"I want everything," I said quietly. "I want the bank accounts, I want his vehicle, I want the savings he built off my property, and I want him legally barred from coming within a mile of Chloe."
"Done," Garza smiled thinly. "Sign here."
As I signed my name at the bottom of the emergency injunction documents, my phone buzzed on the counter. It was an incoming call from an unrecognized local number.
I ignored it. It went to voicemail.
May you like
A moment later, a text notification popped up on the screen. I glanced down and read the words that made my blood run cold:
“Mariana, I know you froze my accounts. We need to talk. If you don't drop the injunction by tomorrow morning, you're going to find out what really happened to the rest of the money from San Lucas Holdings—and who was helping me spend it.”
