Chapter 6 - The Borrowed NameThe following day I drove with Lucía to a notary's office to verify what documents existed and what had actually been signed. The loan guarantee contained my printed name, but the version provided to us was an unsigned electronic copy with an image pasted into the signature area. No one would responsibly call that a valid guarantee without reviewing the original process.
Lucía tapped the page. “They wanted your fear more than your consent. They may have hoped you'd pay to make the problem disappear.”
The thought made me sick. My company employed eleven people. My clients trusted me with deposits and keys to their homes. Javier had been treating all of that like a wallet in his coat pocket.
I met Javier at a public café after Lucía advised me to keep communication in writing where possible. I chose a table near the window and told a friend where I was. He arrived with tired eyes and an expensive watch.
“Mom hasn't slept,” he said.
“I'm not here to discuss your mother's rest.”
“Clara, the loan was supposed to cover six weeks. Sergio promised a quick return.”
“From what?”
“A property deal. We buy at a discount, resell before the first payment.”
“Using money you don't have.”
He leaned in. “Using opportunities you never understand.”
I almost laughed. Nine years of payroll and taxes, and he still thought business was a magic door that opened for confident men.
“Did you copy my signature?”
He stared at the sidewalk. “I thought you'd sign eventually.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“I was protecting us.”
“No, you were protecting a plan that couldn't survive me saying no.”
For the first time he didn't argue. He placed an envelope on the table. Inside was a proposed separation agreement: I would cover the disputed debt, keep quiet about the restaurant, and receive Javier's share of our apartment.
“Sign it,” he said. “And we're both free.”
I pushed it back. “Have your lawyer contact mine.”
His hand closed around my wrist. Not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to stop me standing. I looked at his fingers until he let go.
Outside, I called Lucía and described the meeting. She asked me to save the draft agreement and send a written account of the encounter.
That evening the building superintendent phoned. Someone had entered my apartment with Javier's key and removed two storage boxes.
One was labeled MORALES STUDIO — ORIGINAL CONTRACTS.
The other held my father's letters.
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