Chapter 6 - Thirty Percent of the TruthBeatriz Santos had spent twenty-four years practicing estate and business law.
She had represented wealthy families during divorces, corporate disputes, inheritance battles, and the slow collapse of fortunes that once appeared untouchable.
She had learned one reliable lesson.
People rarely became most dangerous when they were losing money.
They became dangerous when they were losing control.
That was why she asked Esteban to meet her without Rafael.
Her office smelled faintly of coffee and old paper. Outside, rain darkened the Miami streets.
She spread three documents across the conference table.
"The company's ownership hasn't changed since Alma died," she said.
"I know."
"Then let's make certain you understand what that means."
She pointed to the first page.
"Your forty-six percent interest remains yours. Rafael owns twenty-four percent. Alma's thirty percent interest passed into an irrevocable trust for Lucía."
Esteban nodded.
"You are the trustee."
"Correct. I manage that interest for Lucía's benefit. Not yours. Not Rafael's. Certainly not Camila's."
"Nobody is disputing that."
"Someone may be trying to bypass it."
She opened the operating agreement.
"Any disposition of substantially all company assets requires approval from members holding at least seventy-five percent of the ownership interests."
"Rafael and I have seventy."
"Meaning the trust's approval is necessary."
"And you're refusing."
"Pending an independent review."
Esteban leaned forward.
"Beatriz, that sale could solve our liquidity problems."
"Whose liquidity problems?"
The question irritated him.
"Our company's."
"Or Rafael's?"
Esteban didn't answer.
Beatriz placed a copy of the proposed consent form beside the operating agreement.
"If this signature was fabricated, whoever prepared it understood exactly why my approval mattered."
"Camila had access to Rafael's documents."
"That explains opportunity. Not authorship."
"What are you suggesting?"
"That you stop treating your daughter-in-law as the only possible problem."
Esteban's expression darkened.
Beatriz held his gaze.
"Alma believed the company had concealed material liabilities relating to the South Reach waterfront project. She tried to make you examine the records."
"She believed a great many things."
"Some of them may have been correct."
Esteban stood and walked toward the window.
The South Reach project had once been the pride of his career.
Three connected residential buildings along a redeveloped waterfront. Restaurants at street level. Public walkways overlooking the bay. Affordable rental units included under a development agreement with the county.
It was the sort of project that earned newspaper coverage and political goodwill.
It was also where Alma had begun finding irregularities.
"There were maintenance disputes," Esteban said.
"Alma believed contractors certified work that wasn't completed."
"The engineers signed their reports."
"Which engineers?"
He turned.
Beatriz waited.
The question should have been easy.
Yet Esteban found himself remembering that several reports had arrived through Rafael rather than directly from the engineering firms.
He had signed approvals without personally speaking to the inspectors.
He had told himself delegation was necessary.
Suddenly that explanation sounded less convincing.
Across town, Camila sat in a hotel suite with her attorney, Nolan Pryce.
Nolan was a meticulous corporate litigator who disliked surprises.
Camila had provided him with several.
He laid the police incident information on the table.
"The immediate concern is the child abuse investigation."
Camila crossed her legs.
"Esteban manipulated the situation."
"That doesn't explain Rosa's account or the hospital documentation."
"Rosa hates me."
"Perhaps. But if her account is corroborated, her feelings toward you won't resolve the problem."
Camila glared at him.
Nolan continued.
"Don't contact Lucía. Don't contact Rosa. Preserve your messages and documents. Do not delete anything."
"You're speaking to me like a criminal."
"I'm explaining how not to make your position worse."
Camila walked toward the window.
She had grown up in a cramped apartment in Hialeah, watching her mother clean rooms in houses she could never afford to live in.
She had promised herself that one day she would walk through those front doors as an owner, not an employee.
Now she had married into a family with an enormous mansion, expensive cars, and a reputation that opened almost every door in Miami.
Yet one dead woman still seemed to control everything.
Alma's photograph.
Alma's daughter.
Alma's thirty percent.
And somewhere, Alma's notebook.
Camila turned.
"What happens if Beatriz refuses to approve the sale?"
"Then the transaction cannot close on the terms presently proposed."
"What if she resigns?"
"A successor trustee would have to be appointed under the trust. That person would inherit the same fiduciary duties."
"What if Lucía says her mother lied?"
Nolan slowly closed his folder.
"About what?"
Camila hesitated.
"About the company."
"Lucía is seven."
"She remembers things."
"Then she shouldn't be coached."
Camila's face tightened.
Nolan studied her.
"Why are you so concerned about what a seven-year-old remembers?"
Before Camila could answer, her phone vibrated.
A message from Rafael appeared.
Dad knows about the loan. We need to stop talking until I understand what he knows.
Camila stared at it.
Then another message arrived.
Do not touch Alma's things.
She deleted neither message.
For once, she followed her attorney's instructions.
But she opened a separate conversation and typed to a contact saved only as M.
The rabbit is with Lucía. They may have the key.
The reply came less than a minute later.
Then the documents must be found before Beatriz opens the envelope.
Camila read the message twice.
She typed:
What if Esteban finds out?
The answer was immediate.
He already signed the first approval.
Camila's fingers went cold.
May you like
Because whoever was writing to her knew something Esteban had never admitted.
And that information was worth far more than thirty percent of the company.
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