PART 2: THE PAPER TRAIL
We drove down a narrow dirt road until we reached a modest farmhouse outside the city limits. Standing near the entrance was Iván, looking older, thinner, and deeply worn by time.
Instead of a joyful reunion, Iván silently handed his father a thick leather folder filled with original bank ledgers and nine faded receipts from five years ago. Don Eusebio opened it, his hands shaking violently as he looked over the documents before passing them directly to me.
“You’re an accountant, Mónica,” Don Eusebio said, his voice raspy with emotion. “Look at the signatures authorizing the withdrawal of the corn farmers’ fund.”
I flipped through the pages, analyzing the financial records with my trained eye. My breath caught in my throat as I recognized the distinct, stylized handwriting at the bottom of every single invoice.
The signature didn’t belong to Don Eusebio, nor did it belong to Iván. It belonged to my husband, Rafael, alongside the official witness mark of Uncle Arnulfo.
(The full extent of the conspiracy will leave you breathless! Click “Next Page” to continue reading…)
