By noon, Victor was sitting across from me in my dining room with two other lawyers, a forensic accountant, and a woman named Isabel who introduced herself as a specialist in asset protection.
She was small, calm, and terrifying.
She opened a folder and said, “Your husband has been moving money for at least fourteen months.”
I smiled once.
“Of course he has.”
Victor looked at me carefully. “You knew?”
“I knew he was lying. I didn’t know the shape of the lie.”
Isabel spread the papers across the table.
“There are payments to a private wedding planner in Cancún. A luxury villa rental. Jewelry purchases. International flights. A lease for an apartment in Santa Fe under a corporate account connected to Mauricio. And this…”
She slid a bank statement toward me.
I looked down.
A wire transfer.
Large enough to make the room tilt.
I recognized the account.
It was one of mine.
Not joint.
Mine.
My voice came out quiet. “How?”
Victor answered this time.
“We believe he used a power of attorney.”
“I never signed one.”
Victor’s expression darkened.
“We know.”
For the first time, the room went completely still.
I looked at the signature on the document.
My name.
Almost perfect.
Almost.
But not mine.
I remembered Mauricio once telling me my signature was beautiful. Confident. Elegant. He had watched me sign contracts, cards, hotel receipts, checks.
He had studied it.
My hand closed slowly over the paper.
Victor leaned forward.
“Amara, if we can prove forgery, this becomes more than a divorce.”
“I don’t want a divorce.”
Victor blinked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I want an annulment, criminal charges, civil recovery, and public exposure if necessary.”
Isabel’s mouth twitched, almost a smile.
Victor sat back.
“You are very angry.”
“No,” I said. “I am very awake.”
The first thing we did was freeze the accounts.
The second thing we did was contact the title company.
