“Marcial,” Gabriel said carefully, looking at the screen. “Some of these charges were categorized under your signature as ‘client hospitality.’”
“They were,” I lied, my voice tight.
Irma looked across the table at me. “Which client, Marcial?”
The boardroom went silent. I hated her in that moment. Not because she was lying, but because she didn’t have to. The truth had walked into the room before she did, and it had taken my seat.
By noon, the board officially requested “temporary spending controls.” By one o’clock, my access to the corporate credit lines was suspended. By two, Gabriel quietly asked me to step back from daily financial approvals until an internal audit could be completed.
I laughed in his face. I expected the room to laugh with me.
No one did.
That was when I understood. They were afraid of the scandal, yes. But they were also afraid of me. Not my power. My recklessness. I had become a liability to my own legacy.
I left the office without saying goodbye. No one followed me to the elevators.
I sat in the dim concrete silence of the underground parking garage, desperate. I pulled out my new phone and dialed Valeria’s number. She had to answer. I needed someone to tell me I was still a man, still in control.
She answered on the second ring. “Hello?” Her voice was soft, cautious.
“It’s me,” I breathed.
Silence. Then: “Marcial?”
“Where are you? I need to see you right now.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I gripped the leather steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. “What do you mean?”
“I didn’t know you were married like that, Marcial.”
I almost laughed at the absurdity. “Married like what? You saw the ring on my finger, Valeria! I told you it was complicated.”
“You told me it was over,” she shot back, her voice trembling. “You said she knew. You said you were separated emotionally.”
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