Chapter 3 - "YOU'RE BANKRUPT, SIR." THE MOMENT THE ARROGANT EX-HUSBAND’S CARDS DECLINED AT HIS OWN VICTORY PARTY!
The humiliation at the St. Regis gala had been a nightmare, but Adrián was convinced it was a bureaucratic mistake. He sat in the VIP lounge of The Obsidian, an ultra-exclusive club in the business district, trying to salvage his dignity. He had invited ten of his wealthiest potential investors to celebrate what he claimed was a "temporary asset restructuring."
Celeste sat beside him, crying silently into a napkin, her bare arms shivering without her designer accessories.
"Don't worry, baby," Adrián muttered, downing a shot of whiskey. "So her parents have some old money. Big deal. The logistics network belongs to me. My company moves their goods. If I strike, their stores go empty. I hold the cards."
He waved over the head waiter. "Bring another round of Dom Pérignon for the table. Put it on my corporate platinum card."
The waiter returned five minutes later, but instead of the champagne, he carried a small silver tray with Adrián’s platinum card snapped cleanly in half.
"I am sorry, Mr. Velasco," the waiter said, his voice void of any warmth. "The card has been declined. Along with your secondary business lines."
Adrián laughed nervously, his face burning as his investors exchanged uncomfortable glances. "That’s impossible. Call the bank. There's a five-million-dollar credit limit on that card!"
"We did call the bank, sir," a voice answered from behind him.
Ignacio Montes stepped into the VIP lounge, accompanied by two men in dark gray suits carrying official federal folders.
"Actually, Adrián, the credit limit was five million," Ignacio said, pulling out a cigar but not lighting it. "Because I authorized our banking subsidiary to extend it to you yesterday morning. We wanted to see exactly how much rope you would buy to hang yourself with. You spent four hundred thousand dollars in twenty-four hours on jewelry, club rentals, and a down payment on a penthouse for Miss Navarro here."
"You can't freeze my corporate accounts!" Adrián yelled, standing up, his chair scraping violently against the marble floor. "That’s illegal! My company is independent!"
"Your company was independent," one of the men in gray suits spoke up, presenting a badge. "I am Agent Silva from the Federal Anti-Fraud Division. We have spent the last twelve hours reviewing the logistics ledgers provided by Montes Enterprises. Mr. Velasco, you have been double-billing shipping routes and using shell companies to launder the excess into offshore accounts."
Adrián felt the room spin. He looked at Celeste, then back at Ignacio. "No... no, that’s a lie. Valeria signed the waiver! She gave up her rights to the matrimonial property! I have the notarized document!"
Ignacio chuckled, a sound that chilled Adrián to his marrow.
"Ah, yes. The forged document. The notary who stamped that paper? He was arrested three hours ago at the airport trying to board a flight to Panama. He confessed everything, Adrián. He confessed that you paid him fifty thousand dollars to validate a signature my daughter never wrote."
"Sir," the waiter interrupted, looking at Adrián with utter disgust. "The total bill for tonight is twelve thousand dollars. How will you be paying?"
Adrián reached into his pocket, his hands shaking violently. He pulled out three other credit cards.
Declined. Declined. Restricted.
"Celeste," Adrián pleaded, turning to his mistress. "Your card. Use your card!"
"With what money?!" Celeste screamed, losing her temper. "My dad just called me! He said the Montes Group pulled their contracts and canceled our family credit lines! We are ruined, Adrián! You told me she was a nobody!"
"Investors," Adrián gasped, looking at the men at the table who were already grabbing their coats. "Please, a short-term loan—"
"Don't bother," Ignacio said, gesturing to the federal agents. "Mr. Velasco, you are under investigation for corporate embezzlement, grand larceny, and document forgery. Your assets, including the house you illegally tried to transfer to Miss Navarro yesterday, have been seized by the state as collateral for the stolen funds."
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As the handcuffs clicked around Adrián’s wrists in front of his peers, Ignacio leaned in close, whispering so only he could hear:
"My daughter gave you five years of her life, and you gave her thirty-six hours of agony while she birthed your children. Enjoy the holding cell, son. The food is significantly worse than hospital jell-O."
