Chapter 7 - What Andrés Had HiddenSecurity changed overnight.
Police took the threatening messages seriously because they intersected with an active financial investigation and Javier’s private gambling debts.
Isabel arranged professional security for me as an additional precaution.
I hated it.
Not because I thought it unnecessary.
Because it meant Javier’s decisions had reached into yet another corner of my life.
I could no longer enter a café without checking behind me.
Couldn’t drive alone.
Couldn’t stand near my own office windows without wondering who might be watching.
Fear is expensive.
Not financially.
Mentally.
It charges interest on every ordinary moment.
Three days passed.
Then Andrés resurfaced.
He didn’t flee Portugal.
He entered a police station outside Salamanca with an attorney.
Apparently, disappearing had not been an escape attempt.
According to his lawyer, he had panicked after receiving threats related to Javier’s debts.
Whether that explanation was completely true would become part of the investigation.
What mattered to me was what happened next.
Andrés began cooperating.
Not generously.
Strategically.
People like Andrés rarely confess because conscience suddenly wakes up.
They cooperate when mathematics changes.
He realized Javier had already started blaming him.
Elena had legal exposure.
Documents linked companies to his name.
So Andrés began trading information for whatever legal consideration his attorneys could pursue.
The Rivas family, united for decades by money and mutual arrogance, fractured in seventy-two hours.
Andrés blamed Javier.
Javier blamed Andrés.
Both insisted Elena understood less than she did.
Elena blamed me.
That part never changed.
She called from a new number.
I answered without realizing who it was.
“You’ve ruined my sons.”
Her voice sounded smaller than I remembered.
“No, Elena.”
“You turned them against each other.”
“They stole millions.”
“You could have handled this privately.”
“So you could hide it?”
“You were family.”
There was the word again.
Family.
The sacred excuse.
“How much would they have had to steal before I was allowed to stop them?”
“You have more than enough money.”
I closed my eyes.
“That is your defense?”
“You don’t understand what mothers do for their children.”
“No. I understand exactly what you did.”
I disconnected.
Then blocked the number.
An hour later, Daniel arrived with news.
The recovered records contained something investigators hadn’t expected.
A ledger.
Andrés maintained detailed records of transfers.
Perhaps as protection.
Perhaps because criminals occasionally possess excellent bookkeeping habits.
The ledger documented diverted Morales Biotech funds.
Approximately €7.2 million.
My chest tightened when Daniel said the number.
But he continued.
“There’s more.”
“Of course there is.”
“Some money came back.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“Roughly €1.1 million was returned through disguised transactions.”
“Why?”
“Likely Javier trying to replace what he took after winning or borrowing elsewhere.”
That didn’t absolve him.
But it showed the chaos.
Money moved in circles.
Company funds paid debts.
Loans replaced stolen funds.
Property deals generated cash.
Cash covered other holes.
It was less like a master plan than a collapsing building being held up with stolen furniture.
“And the rest?”
“Properties, debts, investments. Some may be recoverable.”
“Some?”
Daniel nodded.
My company might never recover everything.
That hurt more than I expected.
Money could be replaced.
Trust couldn’t.
But there were two thousand employees whose livelihoods depended on decisions made in my building.
This was no longer merely personal.
It never had been.
I ordered a company-wide meeting.
Isabel opposed discussing details.
So I discussed principles instead.
Hundreds joined in person.
Others watched remotely.
I stood on the auditorium stage where my father had once announced our first international expansion.
For the first time in days, I felt nervous.
Not afraid.
Responsible.
“I know many of you have seen reports,” I began.
The room was silent.
“I cannot discuss an active investigation. But I can tell you this: financial irregularities were discovered. We reported them. We are cooperating fully. We are strengthening controls. And no employee will lose a job because leadership failed to protect this company adequately.”
I paused.
“The failure begins with me.”
Rebecca, seated in the front row, frowned.
But I continued.
“I trusted people who did not deserve access. I allowed personal relationships to blur professional boundaries. That will not happen again.”
Afterward, employees approached me.
Some hugged me.
Some simply said thank you.
One laboratory technician named Maria stopped me.
“My ex-husband stole money from me,” she said.
I didn’t know what to say.
She smiled sadly.
“Not millions. But it felt like everything.”
I understood exactly what she meant.
“It took me years to stop feeling stupid,” she continued. “Don’t do that to yourself.”
Then she walked away.
That sentence stayed with me.
I had spent days replaying every warning sign.
How had I missed it?
Why did I trust him?
Why didn’t I ask more questions?
Self-blame can disguise itself as intelligence.
We tell ourselves that if we can identify precisely what we did wrong, we can guarantee nobody will ever hurt us again.
But trust is not stupidity.
Trust is simply a risk.
The shame belonged to the people who exploited it.
That evening, I returned home and removed our wedding photograph from the hallway.
I didn’t smash it.
Didn’t burn it.
I simply placed it inside a drawer.
Then my phone rang.
Inspector Serrano.
“We’ve identified the source of the threatening messages.”
My pulse quickened.
“Who?”
“Not who we expected.”
“Was it connected to Javier’s gambling?”
“Yes. But indirectly.”
She explained.
A debt collector associated with the private gambling circle had sent the messages.
Investigators located him through phone records and surveillance.
He claimed he wasn’t threatening physical harm.
Only attempting to pressure Javier through me.
I wasn’t comforted.
“Has Javier been threatened too?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“At the moment, cooperating.”
I sat down.
Lucía continued.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“The individuals collecting these debts claim Javier no longer owes them.”
I frowned.
“But the message said he owed more than money.”
“They say the debt was paid two weeks ago.”
“By whom?”
“Andrés.”
I went still.
“With what money?”
“That is what investigators are examining.”
The next morning, we got the answer.
Andrés had sold a property.
Not his own.
A coastal estate in Mallorca held through a trust.
A property I had inherited from my father.
My signature had been forged again.
But this time, the transaction had not fully closed.
The transfer was pending final registration.
Which meant there was still time to stop it.
Isabel almost smiled when she called.
“We caught one before it disappeared.”
For the first time since everything began, we weren’t chasing damage.
We were preventing it.
And that changed something inside me.
May you like
I was no longer simply surviving Javier’s collapse.
I was rebuilding control.
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