Chapter 2 - The Singapore Phantom
By 6:00 AM, the Santa Fe office had shifted from a sanctuary of commerce into an operations war room. Veronica arrived wearing an immaculate charcoal suit, her silver-streaked hair pulled into an uncompromising bun, flanked by two junior partners carrying portable scanners and encrypted hard drives.
“The legal reality is straightforward,” Veronica said, laying out three thick binders on the conference table. “Mexico recognizes civil marriage as strictly monogamous. His 'wedding' in Valle de Bravo was either a purely symbolic ceremony or an act of criminal bigamy. Given his mother’s vanity, it was likely an elaborate theatrical performance orchestrated by an unregistered officiant to appease her social circle and secure the mistress’s compliance.”
“I don’t care about criminal charges for bigamy,” I said, sipping black tea from a porcelain cup. “A prison sentence gives him a narrative of martyrdom. He will claim I am a vindictive, barren tyrant who used the state to punish him for finding love. I don’t want him in a cell, Veronica. I want him in the street.”
Veronica offered a razor-thin, predatory smile. “Then we focus entirely on asset architecture. Tell me about the Las Lomas mansion.”
“I acquired the land four months before our civil union through a private holding company, *Inmobiliaria Monte Real*,” I stated calmly. “The construction was financed through a corporate loan issued by my primary development entity. Ricardo signed a pre-incorporation waiver acknowledging he held zero beneficial ownership. His name appears nowhere on the public registry. It is my private property.”
“And the personal accounts?”
“He has an individual checking account with BBVA,” I said. “Current balance is approximately fourteen thousand dollars—whatever is left of the pocket money I deposited on Tuesday. Everything else—his Centurion card, his supplementary platinum lines, the vehicle leases, the corporate credit lines—exists under master accounts where I am the primary guarantor and sole beneficial owner.”
“Then we have immediate operational authority,” Veronica said, her pen flying across an emergency injunction checklist. “Under Mexican corporate governance, an officer or authorized user who misrepresents corporate resources or creates material liability can have their administrative privileges revoked without prior notice. If he used corporate funds to finance any part of that sham wedding, it crosses from marital infidelity into corporate embezzlement.”
Before I could answer, my personal phone began to vibrate on the glass table.
The caller ID displayed a professional headshot of Ricardo smiling in a crisp linen shirt.
Veronica looked at the screen, then looked up at me. “Put it on speaker. Record it through the secondary line.”
I pressed the button. “Good morning, Ricardo.”
“Elena, mi amor!” His voice was bright, energetic, wrapped in that practiced, affectionate cadence that had charmed me for nearly a decade. In the background, I could hear the faint, unmistakable sound of tropical birds and the rhythmic crashing of ocean waves—certainly not the bustling urban hum of Singapore’s financial district. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t call yesterday. The logistics here are insane. I’ve been running between the Temasek towers and private dinners until two in the morning.”
“Is that so?” I asked, leaning back in my leather chair. My eyes locked onto the framed wedding photograph hanging on my office wall—the two of us in Florence six years ago. “How is the humidity treating you?”
“Brutal, darling. Absolutely suffocating,” he sighed, feigning deep professional exhaustion. “I’m telling you, these Asian banking syndicates don’t view humans as people; they view us as productivity units. But the meetings are going exceptionally well. I think we’re close to securing a thirty-million-dollar commitment for the Guadalajara retail expansion.”
He was spinning lies with the casual elegance of a maestro conducting a symphony. He was sitting on a sun-drenched terrace in St. Barts with my pregnant intern, drinking mimosas funded by my credit card, while pretending to negotiate millions for my company.
“That sounds exhausting, Ricardo. You must be desperate for a rest.”
“You have no idea,” he murmured, his voice softening into an intimate, manipulative purr. “All I want is to finish these final sessions, get on the plane, and come home to you. Las Lomas feels like an eternity away. Have the house staff prepare the guest suite on the ground floor, by the way. I was thinking... my mother mentioned she might want to stay with us for a few weeks next month. Her arthritis is acting up.”
*Her arthritis.* The woman who had just danced the salsa until dawn at his sham wedding. He was already planning the next phase: moving his mother into my home, softening the ground, preparing to introduce Ximena and the baby under the guise of an extended family arrangement.
“Of course,” I said, my tone as smooth as polished marble. “We will make sure the house is... completely prepared for whatever comes next.”
“You’re the best wife a man could ask for, Elena. I love you.”
“Take care of yourself, Ricardo. Don't spend too much energy.”
I ended the call.
The silence that followed was thick and electric. Veronica leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with cold professional respect.
“He has no idea the sky is about to fall,” she said.
May you like
“No,” I replied, standing up and smoothing my pencil skirt. “He thinks he’s an emperor. Let’s remind him that emperors without treasuries are just men in funny clothes.”
***
