Then he felt his legs weaken.
The documents called for the opening of a procedure to assess Don Ernesto’s ability to manage certain financial affairs.
Another sheet of paper contained an authorization to disclose banking information to a representative.
And in the section reserved for the applicant appeared his own name.
Javier Morales.
His signature was just below.
But he had never signed these documents.
“What is it?”
Lucía put a hand to her mouth.
“I can explain.”
“Then begin.”
“I just wanted to protect us.”
Javier brandit le document.
“Protect us from what?”
Lucía regarda Don Ernesto.
“Of him.”
The old man closed his eyes.
He seemed exhausted.
Javier resumed his reading.
The documents were dated three weeks earlier.
On that day, he had worked until midnight in the transport company.
He vividly remembered returning home when Lucía was already asleep.
“It’s not my signature.”
His wife said nothing.
“Lucía, this signature is not mine.”
“I didn’t do it.”
“So who made it?”
She pursed her lips.
Don Ernesto spoke from the sofa.
« Arturo Salcedo. »
Javier raised his head.
He knew this name.
Arturo was the financial advisor who had been coming to their house for almost a year.
A man in his forties, always well dressed, always smiling.
It was Lucía who had recommended it to them.
She says it helped small businesses and families organize their wealth.
Javier had never paid much attention to their meetings.
He trusted his wife.
And he thought that his father would know how to recognize a crook.
“What does Arturo have to do with all this?”
Don Ernesto pointed to the envelope.
“Ask Lucía how much money he promised her.”
“Shut up!” she yelled.
Javier had never heard his wife speak like that to her father.
Not in this tone.
Not with such fury.
“Lucía, that’s enough.”
She began to cry.
This time, however, her tears were real.
“You don’t understand what’s going on.”
“Then explain to me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
Lucía looked down the hall.
Then to the windows.
As if she feared that someone would listen to them.
“Because if I speak, we will lose everything.”
Javier felt as if the ground was giving way under his feet.
“What are we going to lose?”
Lucía took several seconds to answer.
“The house.”
Don Ernesto shook his head slowly.
“No, Lucía.”
His voice was low.
But firm.
“That’s what Arturo wants you to believe.”
Javier turned to his father.
“What do you mean?”
The old man pointed to the last document.
“Look at the date at the bottom.”
Javier examines la feuille.
This was an authorization to manage certain transactions concerning a property.
The family home.
The one in which his father had lived for thirty-eight years.
The same house where Javier had grown up.
The transaction was to be finalized the following Friday.
In just four days.
“What do they plan to do with the house?”
Don Ernesto le regarda.
“Take it from me.”
Javier felt a sudden nausea.
“It’s not possible.”
“They’ve already prepared almost everything.”
Lucía dropped into a chair.
“I just wanted the money.”
Javier turned around slowly.
“What money?”
She covered her face.
“The hundred and eighty thousand euros.”
Absolute silence followed these words.
Javier then understood that this afternoon had not begun with an assault.
He had started with a plan.
And that his wife had been lying to him for months.
But he still didn’t know the most dangerous part.
Because at that precise moment, Lucía’s phone vibrated.
A message from Arturo appeared.
DID YOU SUCCEED? THE OLD MAN MUST LEAVE THIS HOUSE TODAY.
Javier read the notification from where he was.
Lucía tried to hide the screen.
Too late.
“Give me your phone.”
« Javier… »
“Give it to me.”
She pressed him to her chest.
“If you read these messages, you won’t be able to go back.”
Javier looked at her with an expression she didn’t know him.
“I think we’re already past that point.”
CHAPTER 3. THE LIE OF THE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY THOUSAND EUROS
Lucía had met Arturo Salcedo seven months earlier.
It wasn’t at a party.
Nor in an elegant restaurant.
It was in a quick loan branch, located on a side street in Madrid.
This detail had disappeared from all the versions she had told her husband.
As far as Javier knew, Arturo was a former college classmate of a friend of Lucía’s.
For Don Ernesto, he was an advisor recommended by a management firm.
But the truth was much less respectable.
Lucía needed money.
A lot of money.
And she needed it immediately.
It all started with an investment.
An alleged real estate opportunity that a former colleague had presented to him.
All you had to do was invest thirty thousand euros.
