He Called Me a Thief… So I Destroyed His Life novel · Chapter 1 of 12
Chapter 1: The Meeting
For three years, I used my family's connections to bring Grupo Mallol over three hundred million dollars in contracts.
That Monday morning, in the boardroom on the thirtieth floor, a four-month intern stood up in front of forty executives.
She pointed at me with a laser pointer.
"With all due respect, Mrs. Tejada."
Her name was Yaritza Icaza.
Twenty-three years old, thick-framed glasses, pink blazer, a folder under her arm, and the smile of someone who knows she's protected.
She'd started in September.
I'd said hello to her twice in the elevator.
"I prepared an expense and attendance analysis for the Partnerships Division," she said, and pressed a button.
The screen at the back lit up.
A red-and-green table, with my name in the header.
"Over the last twelve months, Mrs. Tejada has had forty-six unexcused absences."
A murmur rippled across the table.
"She also submitted expense reports totaling eight hundred thousand dollars at exclusive clubs and restaurants."
She advanced a slide.
The receipts appeared one by one: Club Unión, a restaurant in Casco Viejo, a bar on the Cinta Costera.
"Every single bill exceeds two thousand dollars. These are completely unnecessary expenses."
I stayed still.
My hands rested on the table, one on top of the other.
To my right, the CFO was avoiding my gaze.
To my left, an HR manager was focused on her notebook.
Yaritza took a deep breath, like someone who'd rehearsed the line in front of a mirror.
Then she turned toward the head of the table.
"Mr. Mallol, I suggest you fire Mrs. Tejada immediately. That way you'll protect the company's cash flow."
The silence was total.
Then I looked at Ernesto.
Ernesto Mallol, thirty-one years old, CEO for the past four.
My desk mate in school, the one who copied my math homework and cried when my dad died.
He knew exactly how much money had come out of each one of those dinners.
He knew Club Unión was where I closed the Bocas del Toro hotel contract.
He knew the Casco Viejo restaurant was where a Danish shipping company signed with us for twelve years.
He knew that the night at the Cinta Costera bar, a coffee exporter ordered three bottles of rum.
He knew I stayed until four in the morning, drinking with him, to get his signature.
He knew everything.
And still, he held my gaze with a coldness I'd never seen in him.
"Marisel," he said, without raising his voice. "What do you have to say about the absences and the expenses Yaritza just presented?"
Every eye in the room locked onto me.
I could have spoken.
I could have said forty client names, forty dates, forty contracts.
I could have explained the reason behind every night, every drink, every dawn flight.
But I saw the intern's face, tense with expectation.
I saw Ernesto's hand, clenched around his gold pen.
And I understood something.
This wasn't a misunderstanding.
It was a plan.
I smiled.
"Nothing," I replied.
Ernesto blinked.
"Nothing?"
"I have nothing to say."
"Marisel, this is serious."
"I noticed."
"This could constitute grounds for termination with cause."
"Then fire me."
The room held its breath.
Yaritza stared at me, lost.
She'd expected a fight.
Tears, an excuse, an attack.
Not clean indifference.
Ernesto wet his lips.
"I'm going to... to suspend you effective immediately while this is investigated."
"Perfect."
"Turn in your ID badge and your laptop to Human Resources."
"You'll have the laptop on your desk within the hour."
I stood up.
I smoothed my gray skirt.
I picked up my bag from the chair and my notebook from the table.
As I passed Yaritza, I stopped.
She was shorter than me.
She flinched, just slightly.
"Good work," I told her. "Really. You organized those receipts very well."
She didn't know what to say.
I walked out of the room.
The murmurs followed me, chairs scraping, a gasp, someone saying "poor thing."
No one ran after me.
In the hallway, by the elevators, I leaned against the glass wall for a second.
From there you could see the entire Bay of Panama, ships waiting their turn in the canal.
A thousand ships.
A quarter of them carried containers I'd brought in.
I pressed the button.
The doors opened.
I stepped in alone.
I dialed a number with a steady hand.
On the second ring, an older man's voice answered.
"Legal office, good afternoon."
"This is Marisel Tejada. Do you remember what we discussed last month?"
"Perfectly."
"It's today."
A pause.
"Are you sure?"
"Send the letters."
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