Chapter 8 - The Cornered Wolf
Sofia stepped forward, pulling a legal document stamped with the blue ink of the *Juzgado de Instrucción* from her leather folio.
“Señor Rivas,” Sofia announced formally. “I am Sofia Delgado, legal counsel for Clara Morales. Step back toward the elevator immediately.”
Javier ignored her, fixing his desperate eyes on me. “Clara, look at me! I lost my temper! You know how my mother pushes my buttons! I was stressed about the firm, about money, about everything! It was just wine, Clara! It was just a glass of wine!”
“It was never just wine, Javier,” I said, leaning against the doorframe, my arms crossed. “The wine was simply the moment you showed the entire world who you truly are: an insecure, violent parasite who hides behind his mother’s manufactured pedigree.”
“Don’t talk about my mother like that!” he snapped, his old instinct flaring up for half a second before collapsing back into panic. “Please, Clara. They suspended me at the firm this morning. Someone posted a video of the police escorting me out of Cazorla on LinkedIn. My managing partner called me while I was in the cab. If you don't drop the charges, I’m ruined!”
“You ruined yourself,” I replied. “You sat at that table, looked at me, and said: *‘Pay, or this ends tonight.’* Well, Javier, congratulations. It ended.”
Sofia extended the document toward him. “This is a provisional *orden de alejamiento*—a restraining order issued by the duty magistrate this morning. You are legally forbidden from approaching within two hundred meters of Señora Morales, her place of residence, or her architectural offices on Paseo del Prado. If you step out of that elevator landing toward this doorway, you are in breach of a judicial order, and I will call the officers downstairs immediately.”
Javier looked down at the paper, his hands trembling violently. “Where am I supposed to go? This is my home!”
“Your home?” I laughed softly, without humor. “The down payment was mine. Every single monthly mortgage debit came from my account. Your name is on nothing except the mailbox. Go to your mother’s apartment in Salamanca. The one furnished with the seventy-two thousand euros you stole from me.”
“Clara, I don’t have any money!” he yelled, tears of humiliation and panic finally spilling down his cheeks. “My accounts are frozen!”
“Then I suggest you ask your mother to sell her pearls,” I said.
I stepped inside the apartment, followed by Sofia, and turned to look at him one last time.
“Goodbye, Javier.”
May you like
The heavy oak door shut with a solid, echoing thud. The titanium deadbolts turned smoothly into place. On the other side of the door, I heard him strike the wood once with his fist, let out a broken, pathetic sob, and slowly shuffle back toward the descending elevator.
***
