And the apartment situation was worse: he had sold something he legally couldn’t sell.
He had committed fraud.
I made myself a coffee. I sat down to think. I had two options. The first: call him, warn him, save him from prison. The second: let life teach him the lesson I wasn’t able to teach him in thirty-odd years.
I remembered his voice on the phone.
“See you. Or maybe not.”
I remembered Vanessa asking if my house wasn’t too nice for a single old woman.
I remembered my signature, torn off amidst fever and confidence.
I drank my coffee in one gulp.
And I decided not to save him.
The next day, a mother’s love ended where the law began.
The next day, Thursday, I dressed as if I were going to a state of elegance. I wore a navy blue silk dress, pearls, understated heels, and red lipstick, which Ernesto always said made me look invincible. Then I called my lawyer, Raúl Cárdenas.
—Raúl, I’ll see you at the Mirador del Pacífico Club at eight. Bring the police. I’m going to report fraud, forgery, and breach of trust.
There was silence.
—Teresa… he is your son.
