Chapter 7 - LYDIA FINALLY LEARNED WHAT HER SON WAS
For a moment, I thought Lydia was lying.
Then she handed me bank statements.
Javier had convinced her to invest $120,000 into Alvarez Pacific Trading.
Most of her retirement savings.
She transferred the money four months earlier.
“I thought you were receiving money from him,” I said.
“I was.”
“The Desert Rose payments?”
Her face changed.
“I thought those were legitimate commissions.”
“You knew you weren’t doing legitimate work.”
“I introduced people to your products.”
“You stole boxes from my warehouse.”
“I did not steal them.”
“They weren’t paid for.”
“Javier said I was entitled to samples.”
“Forty-seven thousand dollars in samples?”
She looked away.
There it was.
Lydia wasn’t innocent.
But apparently even she had been manipulated.
“What happened to your $120,000?”
“I don’t know.”
“You invested it.”
“Javier said it purchased inventory.”
Rachel later traced it.
Almost none had purchased inventory.
Javier used part of Lydia’s money to pay personal debts.
Part to cover expenses with Camila.
Part to make an earlier investor believe Alvarez Pacific was profitable.
Classic desperation.
Lydia sat in my hallway because I still refused to let her inside.
“I want my money back.”
I almost admired the audacity.
“You came to me?”
“You have lawyers.”
“So does your son.”
“He won’t speak to me.”
“Welcome to the club.”
Her eyes filled.
“He lied.”
I stared at her.
“You spent four years helping him lie to me.”
“I didn’t know about Camila.”
“You knew he was taking my money.”
“I thought marriage meant—”
“No.”
My voice sharpened.
“Do not use marriage to justify theft.”
She became quiet.
Then, unexpectedly, she looked ashamed.
“I shouldn’t have hit your brother.”
“No.”
“I was angry.”
“No.”
“I had been fighting with Javier—”
“No.”
She stared.
I continued.
“There is no sentence you can add after ‘I hit an eighteen-year-old guest because he picked up food’ that improves it.”
Lydia started crying.
Old Naomi would have comforted her.
New Naomi did not.
Compassion does not require allowing someone to avoid consequences.
“I’m sorry,” Lydia whispered.
“You should tell Wyatt.”
She looked terrified.
“He hates me.”
“He barely knows you.”
“That’s worse.”
“Yes.”
I turned to close the door.
“Naomi.”
“What?”
“I have messages.”
I stopped.
“What messages?”
Between her and Javier.
Months of them.
She handed me her phone.
The messages showed Lydia knew far more than she had admitted.
She knew Javier wanted money from my apartment.
She knew he planned to leave me.
She knew he intended to claim part of Solara.
But she did not know about Camila until the night at my door.
One message from Lydia read:
Make sure Naomi signs before you say anything about divorce. She’ll freeze everything if she knows.
Another:
She worships that company. Use that. Tell her the loan is for expansion.
I looked at Lydia.
“You helped him.”
She cried harder.
“I thought he was protecting himself.”
“By stealing from me.”
“I told myself you would still have plenty.”
That sentence explained everything.
People sometimes believe taking from someone successful is not stealing because the victim still has something left.
But theft does not become generosity because the victim survives.
“Why give me this now?”
Lydia looked down.
“Because he took everything from me too.”
Not noble.
But useful.
Rachel copied the messages.
Lydia agreed to cooperate in exchange for resolving parts of the civil dispute separately.
I did not forgive her.
Wyatt didn’t either.
But two days later, she apologized to him in person.
We met at Rachel’s office.
Lydia sat across from Wyatt.
Her hands shook.
“I was cruel to you.”
Wyatt said nothing.
“I had no right to touch you.”
Silence.
“I was angry about things that had nothing to do with you.”
Wyatt finally spoke.
“Why did you call me a freeloader?”
Lydia looked embarrassed.
“Because I thought your sister spent too much money helping her family.”
Wyatt frowned.
“She paid for your son’s groceries.”
Lydia closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“She paid for the apartment.”
“Yes.”
“She paid for the table.”
“Yes.”
“And you were getting money from her company.”
“Yes.”
Wyatt leaned back.
“So basically, you were mad I ate chicken you didn’t pay for.”
I covered my mouth.
Rachel looked down at her papers.
Lydia whispered, “Yes.”
Wyatt nodded.
“That’s actually kind of funny.”
Lydia looked surprised.
“I’m not saying I forgive you.”
Her face fell.
“But I don’t want you arrested or anything.”
“That isn’t entirely your decision,” Rachel reminded him.
“I know.”
Wyatt looked at Lydia.
“I just want you to understand that being poor doesn’t make somebody greedy.”
Lydia started crying again.
“My dad works two jobs sometimes. My mom makes salsa and sells it at the farmers market. They don’t have much.”
He paused.
“But they sent food with me because they didn’t want me showing up empty-handed.”
Lydia looked ashamed.
“I know.”
“No, you didn’t.”
That was the end of the conversation.
It was enough.
Meanwhile, the evidence against Javier kept growing.
Martin cooperated.
Camila cooperated.
Lydia cooperated.
Security footage showed him entering Solara without authorization.
The fake arrest complaint traced back toward him.
The forged mortgage application contained metadata from his personal laptop.
Then the bank discovered the most damaging detail.
My forged signature had been created from a scanned copy of an old business-loan document.
The file containing the copied signature was on Javier’s computer.
He could no longer plausibly claim I had signed willingly.
His attorney requested settlement negotiations.
For the first time, Javier was ready to talk.
We met in a conference room.
He sat across from me.
No mother.
No Camila.
No confident smile.
Just Javier.
“You look good,” he said.
“Don’t.”
“I mean it.”
“You threatened my brother.”
“I was angry.”
“You forged my signature.”
“I panicked.”
“You stole from my company.”
“I was building something for us.”
“With Camila?”
He looked down.
“That was a mistake.”
“No.”
I leaned forward.
“Buying the wrong couch is a mistake. You built a second life.”
He sighed.
“What do you want, Naomi?”
“Divorce.”
“You know what I mean.”
I did.
His settlement offer was simple.
He would waive most disputed claims relating to Solara.
He would cooperate in returning remaining diverted funds.
He would transfer his interest in Alvarez Pacific Trading.
In exchange, I would agree not to pursue certain civil damages beyond money already recoverable.
Rachel reviewed it.
“It’s not terrible.”
I looked at Javier.
“What happens to the fraud investigation?”
His attorney answered.
“Separate matter.”
Meaning he couldn’t buy his way out of every consequence.
Javier stared at me.
“We can end this.”
“Yes.”
“For both of us.”
“Yes.”
He looked almost relieved.
Then I slid another document across the table.
“What is that?”
“A sworn declaration.”
He read the first page.
His face changed.
It required him to acknowledge that Solara had been founded before our marriage, that he had never been an owner, and that he had misrepresented his authority to Camila, Martin, investors, and others.
“You want me to humiliate myself.”
“No.”
I looked directly at him.
“I want you to stop using lies as assets.”
He threw the document down.
“I’m not signing that.”
“Then we continue.”
His attorney whispered to him.
Javier glared at me.
I felt nothing.
That surprised me.
For weeks, I had expected our final confrontation to be explosive.
Instead, the man across from me looked ordinary.
Smaller than the power I had given him.
Finally, he picked up the pen.
He signed.
And just like that, the marriage I had spent four years defending became paperwork waiting for a judge.
But before the divorce could be finalized, Javier made one last decision.
One that almost destroyed the settlement.
May you like
He disappeared.
And so did $90,000 from the Alvarez Pacific Trading account.
