Chapter 7 - The Auditor’s Revelation
Across the city in a modern glass-fronted office building near Providencia, Mariana sat across from a forensic accountant named Sergio Alvarez—ironically sharing the same first name, though their worlds could not have been further apart.
The accountant slid a thick binder across the polished wooden desk, filled with bank statements, tax returns, and digital transaction logs.
“Your analysis was remarkably accurate, Ms. Morales,” the accountant said, adjusting his glasses. “Your brother didn’t just forge your father’s signature on the commercial lot deed; he systematically drained three separate family trust accounts set up by your grandfather.”
Mariana turned the pages, her eyes scanning the columns of numbers representing decades of her parents' hard-earned savings, completely vanished into offshore shell companies and high-risk speculative ventures controlled by Sergio.
“Can we recover any of it?” Mariana asked, her voice calm and professional.
“Some of the real estate holdings can be frozen and reverted through emergency injunctions, provided your father signs a formal affidavit acknowledging the fraud,” the accountant replied. “That’s the catch. Your father is the primary titleholder on most of these accounts. Legally, the court needs his cooperation to prove coercion and forgery beyond a shadow of a doubt.”
Mariana closed the binder with a soft thud. She knew her father’s stubborn pride; admitting publicly that his favorite son had systematically robbed him would feel like a public execution of his dignity.
“He won’t want to do it easily,” Mariana murmured.
“Then he will lose the house, the retirement fund, and everything else within sixty days,” the accountant said bluntly. “Greed doesn’t negotiate, Ms. Morales. It either gets exposed, or it consumes everything in its path.”
May you like
As Mariana left the office and stepped out onto the bustling sidewalk, her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was an incoming call from an unrecognized landline number. She hesitated before swiping to answer.
“Mariana?” Raúl’s voice came through the speaker, sounding older, weaker, and smaller than she had ever heard it before. “Please… I need to talk to you. Your mother and I are coming to your apartment. Please don’t lock the door.”
