There are already fourteen missed calls from unknown numbers.
Then a text from Mauricio.
You made a mistake, Aranza.
You smile without humor.
No.
He did.
You forward the message to Detective Vega.
Then you block the number.
At 2:10 a.m., your phone rings again.
This time, it is Eduardo Castillo, senior partner at the law firm where Mauricio works. You have met him twice at charity events. A smooth man. Silver hair. Expensive voice. The kind who says “family values” while billing clients for moral flexibility.
You answer.
“Aranza,” he says, “I just heard something very concerning. Mauricio is claiming there was a misunderstanding at dinner.”
You look at your daughter sleeping with an ice pack near her swollen cheek.
“A misunderstanding hit my daughter three times.”
He pauses.
“I am not defending violence. Of course not. But you know how these situations can become complicated.”
There it is.
The beginning of reputation management.
You sit straighter.
“Eduardo, I am going to say this once. If your firm attempts to intimidate my daughter, pressure her to withdraw, contact witnesses, bury evidence, or frame this as a private family matter, I will file complaints with the state bar, the DA, the court, and every journalist who has ever called me for comment on domestic violence reform.”
