Chapter 8 - IVÁN’S FINAL BETRAYALIn the federal penitentiary of Almoloya de Juárez—a maximum-security facility reserved for dangerous criminals—Iván Morales paced back and forth inside his six-by-eight-foot concrete cell. The walls felt like they were closing in.
His deal with the federal prosecutor hadn't worked out quite the way he expected. While his cooperation had shaved a few years off his potential sentence, the judge had made an example of him, handing down a twelve-year federal prison sentence for financial conspiracy, fraud, and accessory to attempted murder.
The heavy iron door clanked open. A prison guard tossed a manila envelope onto Iván’s bunk.
"Mail call, Morales. Though looking at the return address, you probably won't like it."
Iván’s hands shook as he picked up the envelope. The return address read: Valeria Santos, Santa Martha Acatitla Women’s Facility.
He ripped the paper open. Inside was a single piece of lined notebook paper, covered in messy, tear-stained handwriting.
Iván,
I hope every single day in Almoloya is a living nightmare. I found out yesterday that while you were telling the federal agents you were just an innocent victim manipulated by me, you were also trying to hide a separate offshore account in Panama under your sister's name—an account funded by money you stole from my personal jewelry sales behind my back.
You used me from day one. You never loved me. You only loved the bank accounts.
I hope you rot in that cell just like I am rotting here. We destroyed a good man’s life, and now we are paying for it in hell.
— Valeria.
May you like
Iván dropped the letter as if it were burning hot coals. He sank down onto the edge of the metal bunk, burying his face in his hands. The grand dream of luxury cars, penthouses in Polanco, and beach villas in Los Cabos had evaporated into thin air, replaced by cold steel, concrete walls, and a lifetime of regret.
He had tried to cheat fate, but fate had delivered a check that neither he nor Valeria could ever afford to pay.
