Chapter 3: The Account
“Mrs. Morales, I need you to think carefully before you answer.””
The police officer’s voice was calm, but something in his expression had changed.
I looked at Javier.
He was staring at the floor.
Mercedes had gone unusually still.
“Yes,” I said.
“He had access.””
“How much access?””
“My bank statements. Our household account. Some online passwords.””
Javier finally looked up.
“Clara, don't.””
I turned toward him.
“Don't what?””
“Don't say things you don't understand.””
The officer raised a hand.
“Mr. Rivas, let her finish.””
Javier's mouth tightened.
I folded my arms around myself.
The restaurant suddenly felt colder.
“How long have you had access to her banking information?”” the officer asked.
Javier hesitated.
“I’m her husband.””
“That wasn't my question.””
“I don't remember.””
The officer looked at his colleague.
“Let's step somewhere quieter.””
The manager offered us a private room near the back.
I followed the officers inside.
Javier and Mercedes were told to remain in the dining room under the guard's supervision.
As I walked away, I heard Mercedes say something under her breath.
“Ungrateful.””
I stopped.
The officer looked at me.
“You all right?””
I nodded.
“Yes.””
But I wasn't.
Not really.
Because the question I had been avoiding for months was finally sitting in front of me.
How much of my money had Javier been using without telling me?
The manager brought his laptop into the room.
“I can show you the reservation,” he said.
He opened the system.
My name appeared.
Clara Morales.
Phone number.
Email address.
Card details.
My stomach tightened.
“I didn't give you this.””
The manager shook his head.
“According to the system, the card was entered online at 3:12 this afternoon.””
“What email address?””
He clicked a field.
Mine appeared.
But the confirmation email had been sent to another address.
An address I didn't recognize.
The officer leaned over.
“Read it.””
The manager did.
I knew the domain.
The first part was unfamiliar.
But the last name wasn't.
Rivas.
I stared at the screen.
“That's my husband's old email.””
The officer looked at me.
“Old?””
“He stopped using it two years ago.””
Javier had told me he'd lost access to it.
He'd said he couldn't remember the password.
The manager opened another screen.
“There are several reservations attached to the same account.””
I leaned closer.
Madrid.
Barcelona.
Valencia.
A hotel in Seville.
A private dining room.
A luxury car service.
My name appeared repeatedly.
So did my card.
“No.””
My voice came out barely above a whisper.
The officer asked, “Do you recognize these?””
I shook my head.
“No.””
The manager scrolled.
Dates.
Amounts.
Restaurants I had never visited.
Hotels I had never stayed in.
My hands went numb.
“How much?”” I asked.
The manager looked uncomfortable.
“You should probably sit.””
I sat.
He entered a date range.
The number appeared.
€18,460.
I stared at it.
“That can't be right.””
The officer's expression remained careful.
“This may include legitimate transactions. We're not establishing that yet.””
I looked at the dates.
My throat closed.
One of the hotel charges was from the weekend Javier had told me he was visiting his mother.
Another was from a restaurant in Barcelona on the same night he claimed he was working late.
Another charge had been made on our anniversary.
I remembered that night.
I had eaten alone in our apartment.
Javier had texted me at 8:03 p.m.
Long meeting. Don't wait up.
I had believed him.
I had even saved him dinner.
Now I was staring at a receipt from a hotel in Barcelona dated that exact night.
The officer noticed my expression.
“You recognize the date?””
“Yes.””
“What happened that night?””
“My husband said he was working.””
The officer wrote something down.
The manager closed the reservation screen.
“I think you should see this too.””
He opened a payment note attached to one of the restaurant reservations.
I read it.
Charge to Clara Morales. Husband confirms authorization.
My heart began pounding.
“I never authorized this.””
“Do you have your phone?”” the officer asked.
“Yes.””
“Check your banking application.””
I unlocked it with trembling fingers.
There were transactions I didn't recognize.
Some were small.
Some were enormous.
I scrolled.
Then stopped.
A transfer of €6,200.
Another for €3,800.
Another for €4,500.
All within the previous six months.
My breathing became shallow.
“Those transfers aren't from our joint account.””
The officer leaned closer.
“Which account?””
“My personal savings.””
“Does your husband have access?””
“No.””
I stared at the screen.
Then I remembered.
Three months earlier, Javier had asked me to install a new banking application because he said the bank was updating its security system.
He had sat beside me while I logged in.
He told me to use his phone for the verification code because mine wasn't receiving messages.
At the time, I thought nothing of it.
Now I understood.
He hadn't needed my card.
He had needed the code.
The door opened.
Another officer stepped inside.
He was holding Javier's phone.
“Excuse me,” he said.
“We found something.””
Javier's voice came from the hallway.
“That's private!””
The officer ignored him.
He placed the phone on the table.
“We're not searching beyond what is relevant to the incident, but there are recent messages between Mr. Rivas and someone saved as ‘M.’”
I looked at Mercedes through the glass partition.
She was standing outside.
Her face had gone pale.
“M,” I whispered.
The officer nodded.
“Would you like to identify the number?””
I looked at my mother-in-law.
Mercedes stared back.
Then she turned her head.
The officer opened the message thread.
I saw only the most recent exchange.
Javier:
She'll pay. Don't worry.
M:
And if she refuses?
Javier:
I'll make her choose.
My skin prickled.
The officer scrolled.
M:
Remember the reservation is under her card.
Javier:
I know.
M:
Do not use mine again. She'll notice.
I stopped breathing.
The officer locked the screen.
“Do you know who ‘M’ is?””
I looked through the glass again.
Mercedes was no longer pretending.
She was furious.
I nodded.
“Yes.””
“Who?””
“My mother-in-law.””
The officer wrote it down.
Outside, Mercedes began speaking to Javier in a low, urgent voice.
I couldn't hear every word.
But I heard one sentence clearly.
“You promised she would sign.””
The officer looked at me.
“Sign what?””
I shook my head.
“I don't know.””
Javier heard the question from across the room.
“Nothing!””
The second officer stepped outside.
“Mr. Rivas, sit down.””
“I haven't done anything!””
“Then you should have nothing to worry about.””
Mercedes snapped, “You're treating us like criminals!””
The officer answered, “We're investigating.””
The restaurant manager stood in the doorway.
“There's another problem.””
He looked at me.
“We found a second reservation for tonight.””
“Under my name?””
“Yes.””
My stomach turned.
“When?””
“For a private room.””
“Same card?””
“Yes.””
“Who was it for?””
He looked at the screen.
“Six people.””
I blinked.
“Six?””
“Yes.””
“Were they here?””
“No.””
The manager hesitated.
“The reservation was canceled this afternoon.””
“By whom?””
“Your husband.””
I looked at Javier.
He was motionless.
“Why would he reserve a private room for six people?””
He didn't answer.
The officer asked the manager, “Did the reservation include any notes?””
The manager nodded.
He read from the screen.
“‘Family dinner. Surprise announcement.’”
A chill moved through me.
“What announcement?””
The manager looked at me.
“I don't know.””
I turned to Javier.
“What were you going to announce?””
“Nothing.””
“Six people, Javier.””
“It's irrelevant.””
“Then why did you book it?””
He said nothing.
Mercedes finally walked into the room.
“Enough.””
The officer blocked her.
“You need to remain outside.””
She pointed at me.
“This woman has been manipulating my son for years.””
I stared at her.
“You stole my card.””
“I did no such thing.””
“The camera shows you.””
She froze.
Then she recovered.
“You don't know why I took it.””
“Tell me.””
“I was trying to help you.””
“With what?””
She glanced at Javier.
He looked terrified.
Mercedes swallowed.
“You were supposed to sign documents tonight.””
“What documents?””
She didn't answer.
I looked at Javier.
“What documents?””
“It's not what you think.””
“You keep saying that.””
“It isn't.””
“Then tell me what it is.””
He remained silent.
I stood.
The chair scraped loudly against the floor.
“Tell me.””
His eyes filled with something I had never seen before.
Not anger.
Desperation.
“I was going to fix everything.””
“What does that mean?””
“I needed you to sign.””
“Sign what?””
Mercedes whispered, “Javier…”
He turned toward her.
“Stop.””
She stared at him.
He looked back at me.
Then at the officers.
Finally, he said the words that made my blood run cold.
“The apartment.””
I frowned.
“What about the apartment?””
His mouth opened.
And before he could answer, the officer's phone rang.
He listened for ten seconds.
Then his face changed.
He looked directly at me.
“Mrs. Morales, we need you to come with us.””
“Why?””
He held up the phone.
“The bank has just reported a transfer from your personal savings account.””
My heart stopped.
“How much?””
The officer stared at the screen.
“€95,000.””
I couldn't speak.
Then he added quietly,
May you like
“It was transferred this morning.””
And the destination account was in Javier Rivas's name.
