Chapter 5: The Second Will
Victor Salinas arrived at the hospital forty minutes later with two associates and a leather briefcase that he set on the small table near Marianne's bed without ceremony.
He was sixty-one years old, had been my personal attorney for fifteen years, and had the manner of a man who had seen most things and was rarely surprised by any of them.
He looked at Marianne in the hospital bed, at Sophia standing near the window with her phone, at me, and then at the chair in the corner where I had asked Eleanor to sit and wait.
He was surprised.
"Victor," I said.
"I need you to hear everything.
Then I need to know what we can do and how fast."
"Start from the beginning," he said, and opened a notepad.
It took forty minutes to lay it all out — Marianne's account of the documents, the Delgado account, the Panama shell company, Eleanor's admission, Sophia's recording.
Victor wrote steadily and asked almost nothing until we were done.
Then he set his pen down.
"The recording is usable," he said.
"It's a single-party consent jurisdiction.
Sophia was a participant in the conversation." He looked at Eleanor.
"Mrs.
Cardenas, I strongly recommend you say nothing further without your own legal representation."
Eleanor looked at the wall.
"The second will," Victor continued, turning back to me.
"Do you have a copy?"
"We have a key," Sophia said.
She held up the brass key.
"Safety deposit box at Río Claro Savings.
Box 114.
We believe Marianne's copies of the documents are inside."
Marianne spoke from the bed.
"The will is in there.
The original incorporation papers for the shell company are in there.
And there's a USB drive with two years of transaction records I pulled from the company server before Patricia noticed what I was doing."
Victor looked at her with something close to admiration.
"How long were you building this?"
"Eight months," Marianne said.
"I found the first discrepancy by accident.
A supplier invoice that didn't match any delivery record.
I thought it was a bookkeeping error.
Then I found another one.
And another." She paused to breathe.
"I didn't tell Alexander because I wasn't sure yet.
And because I was afraid of what it would mean if I was right."
"You should have told me," I said.
"I know." She looked at me.
"I was trying to protect you."
Victor tapped his notepad.
"We need to move on the safety deposit box today.
Before Patricia or anyone else attempts to access it — though without the key, that would require a court order, which buys us some time." He looked at me.
"I'm also going to contact the financial crimes unit.
What you're describing — the scale of the transfers, the shell company structure — this goes beyond a civil matter."
"How far beyond?" I asked.
"Wire fraud.
Embezzlement.
Possibly conspiracy." He glanced at Eleanor again.
"Depending on the extent of each party's involvement."
Eleanor stood up from her chair.
"I want to speak to my son.
Alone."
"That's not going to happen," Victor said pleasantly.
"I am his mother—"
"And this is a legal matter, Mrs.
Cardenas.
Please sit down."
She sat.
But she looked at me, and her voice dropped to something that was almost private, almost the voice she had used when I was a child and had done something she disapproved of.
"Alexander.
I am your mother.
Whatever mistakes were made — and I am not saying they were made — this family does not need to involve the police.
We handle things ourselves.
We always have."
"We almost buried Marianne alive," I said.
"That is not something we handle ourselves."
Her face didn't change.
"Patricia went too far.
I will grant you that.
But I did not know she intended—"
"You told me to cover the casket with dirt and walk away." My voice was quiet.
The room was very quiet.
"You knew she was in there.
You knew."
Eleanor looked at her hands.
She didn't answer.
That was the answer.
Victor's associate leaned over and said something quietly in his ear.
Victor nodded and looked at me.
"There's a detective from the financial crimes division who has been investigating Cardenas Holdings for the past six months," he said.
"Apparently they've already built a partial case.
They were waiting for someone on the inside to come forward." He paused.
"It seems Marianne made an anonymous tip four months ago."
Marianne closed her eyes.
"You contacted the police four months ago," I said slowly.
"I didn't know who else to trust," she said.
"I'm sorry."
I looked at my wife — pale, exhausted, an IV in her hand, alive by a margin so thin it still made my chest seize — and I understood, for the first time, how alone she had been carrying this.
"Don't apologize," I said.
My phone buzzed on the table.
An unknown number.
I answered it.
"Mr.
Cardenas." A woman's voice.
Calm, professional.
May you like
"My name is Detective Reyes.
I think it's time we spoke."
