Chapter 3 - Seventeen Minutes“Freeze every outgoing payment,” I told Inés. “Call the bank's emergency fraud line. I'll send you confirmation from my own number.”
“Clara, our accountant says the account belongs to a new supplier.”
“What's its name?”
“Rivas Strategic Holdings.”
I knew the name. Javier had mentioned it once, dismissing it as a future project. Now it appeared on a transfer request tied to my firm's operating account.
Mercedes stepped closer. “You always did have a talent for making a scene.”
“Did you set up the payment?”
“Lower your voice.”
“Answer me.”
She adjusted her jacket, the same way she did before delivering an insult across a family table. “Javier gave you a life above your station.”
“Javier gave me a ring. I paid the mortgage.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You think the police will care about a marriage disagreement?”
“I don't need to guess what they'll care about.”
Back inside, I showed the message to the officer taking my statement and explained the timing. She advised me to contact the bank and preserve documents. She was clear that the restaurant incident and possible financial misconduct would require their own evidence and procedures. That clarity steadied me.
At 11:49, Inés sent screenshots showing a proposed transfer of €186,000. It was nearly all the cash we needed for payroll, vendors, and an apartment-hotel project we had spent eighteen months building.
I called our bank. I answered the security questions and asked for an urgent restriction on electronic transfers. The fraud specialist gave me a case number. She couldn't promise a perfect result, but she confirmed that the suspicious instruction was being reviewed and that existing access credentials needed to be changed.
When I hung up, Javier was waiting by the coat check.
“You should have talked to me privately,” he said.
“You could have asked me privately for money.”
“We have investments to protect.”
“We?”
He rubbed his forehead. For one second he looked exhausted rather than angry. “My mother has debts. I needed breathing room.”
“Then why forge my name?”
His silence was an answer.
At 11:58, my accountant, Daniel, called. “Clara, the bank stopped the transfer in the approval queue. But the request wasn't the only thing submitted.”
“What else?”
He inhaled. “There's a personal guarantee. It says your company will cover a loan of almost half a million euros.”
I gripped the phone so hard my fingers hurt. “I never guaranteed a loan.”
“And Clara? The document is dated three months ago.”
Three months. Long before the dinner. Long before the wine.
Someone had been working on this for a very long time.
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