The divorce wasn’t quick…
But it was clean.
Because I had decided not to leave any loose ends.
Fernando spent the first few weeks sending me messages at all hours.
Some were angry.
Others were rehearsed regrets.
“We can fix it.”
“I didn’t want to lose you.”
“Everything got complicated.
” “Mateo isn’t to blame.”
In that last point, at least, he was right.
The child was wrong.
That’s why every step I took was designed to strike only where it mattered:
His pride.
His lies.
His wallet.
My lawyers filed the civil suit and prepared the criminal one.
The audit was precise:
Forty-eight unjustified transactions in twenty-six months.
A rental paid with company funds.
Two insurance policies.
A car registered in his name financed from the operating account.
Cash withdrawals without supporting documentation.
Fernando tried to defend himself by saying they were “advances.”
But these supposed advances had never been approved by anyone.
Least of all by me.
I was the sole partner.
His own lawyer ended up advising him to accept a settlement.
He accepted because he had no other choice.
He sold his car.
A motorcycle he hardly ever used.
And a small plot of land he had bought near Toluca ,
convinced that one day he would build a second home there.
With that, he returned part of the money.
He waived in writing any claims regarding the company, the house, and the furniture acquired before or during the marriage with my own funds.
In exchange, I dropped the criminal charges.
Not out of compassion.
Out of calculation.
Such a process would have taken years.
And it would have implicated Matthew as well.
The last time I saw him in an office was at the notary’s, on the day of the final signing.
He was wearing a wrinkled shirt.
He had that look of a man who can’t distinguish between being defeated and destroying himself.
He signed without looking at me.
When he finished, he asked with a dry bitterness:
