Chapter 13 - THE MEETING
The audio message did not answer every question.
It answered the one Jorge had spent days trying to avoid.
He knew.
He knew my mother was being given something.
He knew a hospital might identify it.
And he still wanted her signature.
Karina’s cooperation expanded after investigators confronted her with the recovered message.
Through her attorney, she described the schedule her father supplied, the containers he delivered, and the pressure he applied when my mother refused to discuss the land.
She also admitted the part she had tried hardest to soften.
She had continued after seeing my mother become ill.
There was no version of that truth I could forgive into something smaller.
Jorge called me that evening.
I let it go to voicemail.
He called again.
On the third call, after speaking with Fuentes, I answered.
“You’ve heard enough lies,” he said.
“I heard your voice.”
“You heard a fragment.”
“What would the rest change?”
He ignored that.
“I want the original ledger. The tape. Everything Rodrigo left.”
“Why?”
“Because those documents belong to the company.”
“Then ask through your attorney.”
His breath sharpened.
“We can settle this without strangers tearing our families apart.”
“My mother isn’t your family.”
“Karina is your wife.”
“Not for much longer.”
Silence.
Then he named a price.
More money than I had earned in my entire life.
In exchange, I would bring the records to his office and sign a statement withdrawing allegations of wrongdoing.
“My mother almost died.”
“She’s alive.”
That was his defense.
That was what he thought should satisfy me.
I agreed to a meeting in the presence of counsel at a neutral office.
He objected.
I said there would be no meeting otherwise.
Finally, he agreed.
Fuentes made clear that I was not there to improvise an investigation or provoke him. My attorney would handle the discussion. Police would continue their work separately.
I brought copies.
The originals remained secured.
Jorge arrived carrying a leather briefcase.
For the first time since I’d known him, he looked tired.
He sat across from me.
“No Karina?” he asked.
“No.”
He glanced at my attorney, then opened the briefcase.
Inside was a proposed settlement.
The first pages were ordinary enough.
Payment.
Confidentiality.
Property.
Then my attorney stopped turning pages.
“What is this clause?”
Jorge didn’t look at him.
May you like
He looked at me.
And I saw that he still believed there was a number large enough to buy my mother’s silence.
