Chapter 8 - The Criminal Indictment
Forty-eight hours after the scene at Sofía's school, the hammer of the justice system fell with absolute, unyielding force.
The evidence compiled by Sarah Vance, the forensic accountant David Ross, and First Capital Bank’s internal compliance division had been handed over to the County Commonwealth’s Attorney. Because the amount stolen exceeded $100,000 and involved forged financial documentation across state lines, the charges were elevated to severe felony counts.
On Thursday morning, Sarah and I sat in a private room at the county courthouse.
Diego sat across from us behind a heavy wooden table. He was wearing an orange jumpsuit provided by the county detention facility. His hands were handcuffed at his waist, his hair unwashed, his face gaunt, covered in three days of dark stubble.
Sitting beside him was a public defender who looked completely exhausted, skimming through the six-inch-thick stack of indictment documents.
Teresa Alvarez was being held in the women’s facility on two felony counts of assault on an officer, criminal trespass, and secondary indictment as a co-conspirator in grand larceny.
"Mr. Morales," Sarah Vance began, her voice calm and devoid of pity. "The Commonwealth’s Attorney has officially returned an eight-count grand jury indictment against you: three counts of felony bank fraud, two counts of identity theft, one count of custodial trust embezzlement, and two counts of corporate tax fraud."
Diego looked up, his eyes bloodshot, tears welling up in the corners. He looked at me, his lip trembling.
"Verónica..." Diego choked out, his voice hoarse and broken. "Please... talk to them. Tell them it was a mistake. Tell them we can settle this in civil court. I’ll give back the money... I’ll give back everything!"
"You don't have anything left to give back, Diego," I said, my voice steady and cold. "Your employer terminated your contract on Tuesday for vendor embezzlement. The bank has seized the remaining funds in T. Alvarez Holdings, and your company has filed a formal civil recovery lawsuit against you."
"I did it for us!" Diego sobbed, wringing his handcuffed hands. "My mother convinced me that if we bought that strip mall, we would be set for life! She said you didn't understand business! She controlled me, Verónica! You know how she is! She forced me!"
"You are thirty-four years old, Diego," I replied. "You stole your six-year-old daughter's college fund. You forged my name on a quarter-million-dollar debt line. You watched your mother hit our child with a belt and told me to apologize. You weren't controlled. You were greedy, arrogant, and weak."
Diego dropped his head onto the table, weeping loudly, his shoulders shaking.
His public defender let out a long, heavy sigh, sliding a single sheet of paper toward Diego.
"Diego," the defender said quietly. "The prosecutor is offering a plea agreement. If you plead guilty to two counts of felony bank fraud and surrender all rights to marital property, the state will drop the remaining charges and recommend a sentence of seven years in state prison with four years suspended."
"Seven years?!" Diego gasped, lifting his head in terror. "I can't go to prison! I’m a property manager! I won't survive in there!"
"If you go to trial," Sarah Vance interjected coldly, "the evidence David Ross compiled guarantees a conviction on all eight counts. You will be facing twenty-two years without parole."
Diego stared at the plea agreement. He looked at the signature line at the bottom of the page—the place where his name was required.
He looked at me one last time, searching my face for any sliver of the woman who had spent seven years putting up with his mother, fixing his mistakes, and keeping his home quiet.
He found nothing. Only ice.
With shaking, trembling fingers, Diego picked up the blue ballpoint pen provided by his attorney.
May you like
He signed his name on the line.
The sound of the pen scratching against the paper was the final, definitive end of the man who had tried to steal my life.
