Chapter 8: The Man Who Thought He Could Win
Mateo's lawyer was named Fuentes.
He was fifty-three, silver-haired, and had never lost a high-asset divorce case in fourteen years.
He told Mateo this on their first meeting, and Mateo had hired him on the spot.
"The documentation they have is a problem," Fuentes said.
They were in Fuentes's office, twelve floors above the city.
"I won't pretend otherwise.
But a problem is not a verdict."
"What's our position?" Mateo said.
"We argue tragedy, not negligence.
A husband who made a terrible error in judgment on a single night.
No pattern of endangerment.
No history of domestic incidents.
A man who, when he learned what happened, came immediately to the hospital and has been present every day since." Fuentes set his pen down.
"We also argue that Alejandro Reyes's involvement is not neutral.
He is your documented business rival.
He had motive to insert himself into this situation and exploit it."
Mateo leaned forward.
"Can we make that stick?"
"We can raise it as a question.
Juries — and judges — respond to the idea of outside manipulation.
If we can paint Alejandro as someone who used a vulnerable woman in a crisis to advance his own agenda against you, that changes the emotional landscape of the case."
"He's going to say he was just helping her."
"And we're going to ask why a man who hadn't spoken to your wife in five years was the one she called.
We're going to ask what their relationship really was.
We're going to ask whether the documentation he assembled so quickly, so thoroughly, on the very night of the incident, suggests genuine concern — or preparation."
Mateo was quiet.
Something moved across his face.
"You're going to go after Camila," he said.
"I'm going to go after the narrative," Fuentes said carefully.
"There's a difference."
"She was on the floor for forty minutes."
"And that is genuinely terrible.
We acknowledge it fully.
But acknowledgment is not the same as legal liability.
The gate code situation is the most dangerous element for us.
We need to establish that you had no reason to believe she was in danger.
That the calls, in context, appeared consistent with normal late-night contact.
That you had no way of knowing."
"I rejected three calls before I turned the phone off," Mateo said.
Fuentes was quiet for a moment.
"I know."
"That's in the log."
"Yes."
"So how do we explain that?"
Fuentes picked up his pen again.
"We don't explain it.
We contextualize it.
A husband who had been receiving frequent late-night calls during a difficult pregnancy.
A pattern of contact that had, in his experience, never indicated genuine emergency.
A man who made a human error in reading a situation he had no reason to believe was critical." He paused.
"It's not a perfect argument.
But it's an argument."
Mateo stood and walked to the window.
Below, the city moved in its usual indifferent way.
"She's going to take everything," he said.
"Not everything.
But a significant portion.
The mansion, likely.
Primary custody, almost certainly.
Substantial support payments." Fuentes paused.
"Unless we settle."
Mateo turned.
"Settle."
"A negotiated agreement, reached privately, before this becomes a public court case.
You retain more control over the terms.
You avoid a trial where all of this documentation becomes public record." Fuentes looked at him steadily.
"Mateo.
If this goes to court, the call log becomes public.
The gate record becomes public.
The photographs of you and Valeria that night become public.
Your business reputation, your relationships, your standing in this city — all of it becomes part of the public record of this case."
Mateo said nothing.
"A settlement protects you from that," Fuentes said.
"It costs you financially.
But it protects everything else."
"And if I don't settle?"
"Then we fight.
And we may win on some points.
But the story of this case — a pregnant woman alone on the floor calling her husband seventeen times — that story will follow you regardless of the legal outcome." Fuentes set his pen down again.
"I'm telling you this as your lawyer and as someone who has seen this kind of case before.
The law is one thing.
Public perception is another.
You need to decide which one matters more to you."
Mateo turned back to the window.
"I want to talk to Camila," he said.
"Directly.
Without lawyers."
"I strongly advise against that."
"I'm not asking for your advice on this.
I want to talk to her."
Fuentes sighed.
"If you speak to her directly, anything you say can be used.
If you make any kind of offer or admission—"
"I just want to talk to my wife," Mateo said.
He left the office before Fuentes could finish his sentence.
He went back to the hospital.
He found Camila's new room on the fourth floor.
He knocked.
She looked up when he came in.
She was alone.
Sofia was in the bassinet beside her.
"Mateo," she said.
Her voice was neutral.
"Your lawyer called mine this morning."
He stopped.
"You already have a lawyer?"
"I told you I was going to handle this myself."
He came further into the room.
He looked at Sofia.
The baby was sleeping, her small chest rising and falling.
"She has your nose," he said.
Camila said nothing.
He sat down.
He looked at his hands.
He looked at the floor.
He looked at everything in the room that wasn't Camila's face.
"I know what I did," he finally said.
"I'm not going to sit here and tell you it was a misunderstanding or that I didn't know.
I knew you were calling.
I chose not to answer." He stopped.
"I don't have an excuse for that.
I'm not going to try to give you one."
Camila looked at him carefully.
"Okay."
"I'm asking you not to do this," he said.
"Not for me.
For her." He nodded toward Sofia.
"She deserves both her parents."
"She'll have both her parents," Camila said.
"That's not what this is about."
"Then what is it about?"
"It's about the fact that I cannot trust you," she said simply.
"Not because of one night.
Because of what that night showed me about who you are when no one is watching.
When it costs you something to show up." She paused.
"You chose not to show up.
And I almost d*ed.
And so did she."
"I know," he said.
His voice cracked slightly on the second word.
"I believe you're sorry," she said.
"I genuinely do.
But sorry doesn't change what I know now."
He looked at Sofia again.
His jaw was tight.
"Alejandro is going to use all of this against me," he said.
"You know that.
Whatever he told you he's doing for you — he has his own reasons.
He always has."
"Maybe," Camila said.
"But he came when I called.
You didn't."
Mateo stood.
He looked at her for a long moment.
"I'm going to fight for custody," he said.
"I want you to know that.
I'm not going to disappear."
"I know," she said.
"Your lawyer made that clear."
He walked to the door.
Stopped.
"What Alejandro has on me," he said.
"The documents, the recordings — how bad is it?"
Camila looked at him steadily.
"You should ask your lawyer."
He left.
The door closed.
Sofia stirred in the bassinet.
Camila reached over and placed one hand gently on her daughter's back.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from her new lawyer.
*Mateo's team just contacted us.
They want to discuss settlement terms.*
Camila read it twice.
Then she typed back:
*Tell them we'll listen.
But we're not in a hurry.*
She set the phone down and looked at her daughter.
For the first time since the night of the fall, she felt something settle in her chest.
Not happiness.
Not yet.
But something solid.
Something that felt like ground beneath her feet.
May you like
Outside in the corridor, she heard Mateo's footsteps moving away.
She didn't watch him go.
