PART 2
Ricardo returned to Mexico City convinced that he still owned everything. I knew because Fernanda posted about the trip: first class, champagne, the emerald necklace, and a caption that read, “Back home with my king.”
When they landed, Ricardo requested an executive SUV and took her straight to Polanco. He walked into the lobby, pulled out his metal card, and held it up to the private elevator reader.
Red light.
Access denied.
He tried three times. According to the building manager, Ricardo started yelling that he was the owner and demanded that they reactivate his card.
The manager checked the system.
“Sir, you are not listed as the owner, an authorized resident, or a permanent guest.”
“This penthouse is mine!”
“No, sir. The property belongs to a corporation. Your authorization has been revoked.”
Then Ignacio Robles appeared. He had come to inspect the details of the transaction before the final signing.
Ricardo recognized him instantly.
He was the man Ricardo had spent years trying to impress enough to get an invitation to play golf.
“What are you doing here?”
Ignacio glanced at the luggage.
“I came to inspect the penthouse I’m buying.”
Fernanda stepped away from Ricardo’s arm.
He tried to call me.
My number was no longer accepting his calls.
Then he tried to book a hotel.
Card declined.
He tried another.
Declined.
Lucía had canceled all the additional cards linked to my accounts.
Ricardo only had his personal credit lines left, which were nearly maxed out after charging more than 600,000 pesos for flights, jewelry, dinners, and excursions.
Fernanda saw the red alerts.
“You don’t have any money?”
“It’s temporary. Camila is throwing a tantrum.”
“The apartment isn’t yours either?”
“Of course it’s mine.”
The manager overheard him.
“It has never been in your name, sir.”
With no luxury hotel, no access to the penthouse, and no available credit, Ricardo ended up calling his mother.
Beatriz welcomed them into her home in Satélite after midnight.
Ricardo told her a version of the story in which I was a deranged wife who had “stolen his assets.”
“We’ll sue her until she doesn’t have a single peso left!” Beatriz shouted.
Over the next few hours, Ricardo sent me furious emails.
He demanded “his house,” “his cars,” and “his money,” and threatened to show up at my offices.
I didn’t respond.
I forwarded everything to Lucía.
The next day, she served him with the divorce filing, revoked his permission to use property belonging to my companies, and issued a formal warning ordering him to stop harassing me.
Ricardo hired a lawyer, convinced he could claim half of everything.
Three weeks later, at the first formal meeting, his own lawyer discovered the truth.
We had been married under a separation-of-property regime.
The penthouse belonged to my company.
The cars did too.
The accounts were mine.
And documents signed years earlier proved that the money I had used to rescue him had been documented as loans and financial agreements.
Lucía presented the photos from the Maldives, the charges, the messages in which Ricardo lied about Monterrey, and the aggressive emails he had sent me.
His lawyer stopped smiling.
“You told me the apartment was yours.”
Ricardo didn’t answer.
That same week, his company opened an internal investigation—not because of the affair, but because he had used a fake corporate emergency as an excuse to be away.
He ended up being removed from his position.
Fernanda lasted only a few more days at Beatriz’s house.
Until she found overdue statements and the bill for the necklace.
That was when she realized she wasn’t with a millionaire being persecuted by a cruel wife.
She was with a man in debt who had financed a fantasy with someone else’s money.
That night, she wrote to me:
“I can testify against Ricardo and hand over private messages. Pay me 250,000 pesos.”
I didn’t need to buy her testimony.
So I forwarded the email to Ricardo and Beatriz.
Minutes later, Ricardo had tried calling me eleven times.
And as he desperately pounded on the door of the room where Fernanda was packing her bags, I knew that the last alliance he had left had just fallen apart.
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parte 2
