Chapter 4 - The Cracks in the Facade
Brenda, my former mother-in-law, gasped loudly, setting her champagne glass down so hard on a nearby waiter's tray that it nearly overturned.
"Goodness gracious," Brenda muttered, her eyes scanning me with a venomous mixture of surprise and disgust. "Where on earth did you rent that dress, Camila? And who is this man? You brought a date to a family wedding?"
I didn't even glance at Brenda. My eyes stayed locked on Marcelo, watching the color drain slowly from his face as his mind struggled to process the scene.
"You invited me, Marcelo," I said softly, a gentle, effortless smile gracing my lips. "You sent a text on Tuesday telling me I should come see how well you were doing. Remember?"
Marcelo swallowed hard, wiping his wet hand on a pocket handkerchief. He tried frantically to regain his composure in front of his wealthy associates, puffing out his chest.
"Right... of course," Marcelo stuttered, forcing a stiff, unnatural smile. "I just... I didn't think you could afford the babysitter. Or... or a dress like that. I see you’ve managed to find someone to pay your bills." He cast a disdainful, challenging glare at Eduardo.
Eduardo didn't flinch. He stepped forward, offering a courteous, icy hand.
"Eduardo Silva," he introduced himself, his voice smooth as silk and deep as thunder. "Managing Partner of Silva & Associates Forensic Accounting. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Marcelo. I’ve spent the last forty-eight hours studying your financial records. You are a remarkably creative man."
At the words forensic accounting, Marcelo’s left eyelid twitched violently.
"Forensic accounting?" Marcelo laughed nervously, looking around at his friends, who were now watching the interaction with growing curiosity. "What is this, a joke? Camila, did you hire some cheap auditor to harass me?"
"We aren't here to harass you, Marcelo," I said, stepping closer to him, keeping my tone perfectly conversational. "We’re here to celebrate Julian’s wedding. And, of course, to talk about Oakridge Drive."
Marcelo took a sharp step back, his eyes darting toward the security guards stationed near the ballroom doors. "Oakridge Drive is sold. The transaction closes on Monday. You surrendered your equity during the divorce settlement because you couldn't pay the mortgage arrears. It’s done."
"It’s not done, Marcelo," Eduardo interjected calmly, pulling a thin gold pen from his pocket. "The transfer of Oakridge Drive to Apex Horizons LLC was an illegal fraudulent conveyance designed to conceal marital assets from the family court."
"You're lying!" Brenda snapped, stepping between us and her son. "Marcelo supported this girl for four years! She drained his accounts! He was generous enough to let her walk away without paying back what she owed him!"
"Brenda, please," I said gently, looking my former mother-in-law dead in the eye. "Save the performance for someone who doesn't have your son's secret offshore wire transfers printed out in a leather binder."
A crowd of wedding guests was beginning to gather around our circle, whispering behind their silk napkins and champagne flutes. Among them was Arthur Vance—the developer Marcelo had been bragging to at lunch three days ago.
Vance stepped forward, his brow furrowed in deep concern. "Marcelo... what is this man talking about? You assured me the title on Oakridge Drive was completely clear of any marital encumbrances."
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"It is clear, Arthur!" Marcelo pleaded, panic finally breaking through his slick demeanor, a thin bead of sweat forming at his hairline. "They’re bluffing! Camila is just bitter because I moved on!"
"If I were bluffing, Marcelo," I said softly, opening my clutch purse, "I wouldn't have brought you a gift."
