Chapter 33 The Meeting

Chapter 33 The Meeting
I’m at the police station in forty minutes.

Marina meets me at the entrance, briefcase in her hand, expression grim. “Don’t say anything, not one word. They’re building a conspiracy case and every syllable will be used against you.”

“There’s hotel footage. From the night I met Mateo. My father had us followed…”

“I know, Rebecca sent it to the prosecutor an hour ago.” Marina pulls me aside. “Elena, that footage doesn’t help you. It shows you approaching Mateo, propositioning him, initiating everything. Combined with the office cameras showing the same pattern, it looks like you deliberately targeted him.”

“I didn’t know who he was…”

“But your father did. He knew Mateo would be at that bar. The PI’s report shows he had been tracking Mateo’s movements for days.” She shows me a document. “Your father knew Mateo went to that specific bar every Friday, alone, vulnerable.”

My stomach drops. “You think my father sent me there? To that exact bar?”

“I think your father mentioned it casually. Suggested you try somewhere new after the breakup. Guided you without you realizing.” Marina’s voice is clinical. “The question is: did you know what you were doing when you approached Mateo? Or were you an unwitting pawn in your father’s plan?”

“I didn’t know… I didn’t even approach him, I just sat close to him and placed my order.”

“Then we use that. You were grieving the breakup, your father suggested the bar, you met someone by coincidence. You had no idea he’d be your professor three days later.”

“That’s the truth…”

“Truth doesn’t matter. Proof matters and right now, the proof looks bad.” She checks her watch. “Mateo is inside. They are questioning him separately. Whatever you say in there, make sure it aligns with what he is saying. Any contradictions and they’ll claim you’re both lying.”

We enter the station. I’m led to an interrogation room, metal table, recording equipment, two detectives waiting.

Detective Ruiz I recognize from before. The other is male, older, skeptical eyes.

“Miss Vega. I’m Detective Morales.” He doesn’t offer his hand. “Let’s start with September twenty-second. The night you met Professor Sandoval.”

Marina interrupts. “My client will answer questions relevant to the surveillance investigation only. Her personal relationship is not…”

“Her personal relationship is entirely relevant if she knowingly participated in creating false evidence.” Morales opens a folder. “We have footage showing Miss Vega initiating contact with Professor Sandoval at Refugio Bar. We have testimony from the bartender that she seemed to be waiting for someone specific. And we have records showing her father had been tracking Professor Sandoval for weeks prior.”

“My client had no knowledge of her father’s surveillance…”

“Didn’t she?” Morales slides a photo across the table. “This is Elena Vega’s phone GPS data from September twenty-second. She was at three different locations that day. Ending at Refugio Bar at 10:47 PM, the exact time Professor Sandoval typically arrived on Friday nights.”

I stare at the data. It’s accurate but I didn’t know Mateo’s schedule. I just went to the first bar I saw.

Except it wasn’t the first bar. I walked past two others before choosing Refugio.

Why did I choose that one?

“My client is not required to explain her choice of establishments.”

“But she is required to explain why her father transferred fifty thousand euros to her account the day after that encounter.” Morales produces bank records. “Payment for services rendered, Miss Vega?”

The room spins. “What payment? I never received…”

Marina grabs the records and scans them. Her face goes white. “This is fabricated. These account numbers don’t match…”

“They’re from a secondary account opened in Miss Vega’s name three months ago. She’s listed as the primary holder.” Morales looks at me. “Did you or did you not open an account at Banco Sabadell in June?”

“No. I’ve never banked with Sabadell…”

“Your signature is on the application.” He shows me the document.

It’s my signature, my handwriting, my identification documents.

“But I didn’t sign this…”

“Then someone forged it. Someone with access to your personal information and identification. Someone like your father.” Marina is flipping through pages. “This is identity fraud. My client is a victim…”

“Or a co-conspirator who is now claiming ignorance because her father conveniently died before he could testify.” 

Morales leans back. “Let me tell you what I think happened, Miss Vega. Your father identified Professor Sandoval as a target, wealthy family, history of scandals, weakness for young women. He set up the encounter, you executed it, cameras documented everything. Then you both planned to sue the university and the Sandoval family for millions. Except your father died before the payoff, and now you’re scrambling to cover your tracks.”

“That’s insane…”

“Is it? Because we have motive, means, and opportunity. We have financial transfers. We have GPS data. We have footage showing you pursuing Professor Sandoval repeatedly despite his attempts to maintain boundaries.” Morales stands. “We also have testimony from Professor Sandoval.”

My blood runs cold. “What testimony?”

“He claims you initiated every sexual encounter. That he tried to end the relationship multiple times. That you refused to leave him alone.” Morales pulls out a document. “He’s stating that while he bears responsibility for crossing professional lines, you were the aggressor. The pursuer. The one who wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Mateo wouldn’t…”

“He did. One hour ago. In this building.” Morales slides the statement across the table. “Read it yourself.”