Chapter 4
Alexander’s lawyer called at 10:15 a.m.
The report was worse than any of us had imagined.
Carmen Robles was a professional predator.
Over the last twenty-two years, she’d been involved in seven separate civil lawsuits. All of them involved elderly relatives or vulnerable family members signing over property to her shortly before their deaths.
Every single time, the will had been “updated” in her favor.
Every single time, the family had contested it.
And every single time, Carmen had won.
She was good. She knew exactly how to manipulate people. How to isolate them from their families. How to wear them down until they’d sign anything just to make her leave them alone.
Javier had been her lawyer on the last three cases.
“These aren’t just coincidences,” Alexander’s lawyer said over speakerphone. “This is a pattern. A very deliberate, very successful pattern. She marries her son into wealthy families, then systematically drains the assets. Sofia was just the next target.”
I felt sick.
All those warning signs I’d ignored. The way she’d asked about Alexander’s assets on her first visit. The “wedding contribution” she’d demanded—cash, jewelry, guarantees. The way she’d looked at my furniture like it was already hers.
She’d been sizing us up from the moment she walked through my door.
“And there’s more,” the lawyer continued. “Javier’s law license is under review. Three separate complaints of misconduct in the last year. All involving clients being pressured into settlements that benefited… guess who.”
“Carmen,” Alexander said.
“Exactly. She’s the puppet master. He’s just the pretty face with the law degree.”
Alexander stood up.
“Send everything you have to Marcus,” he said. “I’m going to pay the Robles family a visit.”
My head snapped up.
“Now?” I said. “Alexander, they’re dangerous. They threatened to kill her. What if—”
He cut me off with a look.
“They threatened my daughter,” he said. “And now they get to find out what that means.”
He called for two of his security men to follow him. Not inside the hotel. Just in the lobby. In case things got messy.
The Ritz-Carlton penthouse suite was on the thirty-fourth floor.
Carmen opened the door herself when Alexander knocked. She was wearing a cream silk dress, more gold jewelry, her hair perfectly coiffed. She looked like she’d never hurt a fly in her life.
Her smile faltered when she saw who it was.
“Alexander Voss,” she said, recovering quickly. “To what do we owe this pleasure? Sofia didn’t mention you’d be joining us for brunch.”
She stepped aside to let him in.
Alexander didn’t move.
“Where is he?” he said. His voice was calm. Too calm.
“Javier’s in the shower,” Carmen said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Is everything all right? You look… upset.”
Alexander stepped past her into the suite. He walked slowly through the living room, his gaze taking in everything—the expensive art, the designer furniture, the half-empty coffee cups on the table.
He stopped in front of the fireplace.
On the mantel sat a photograph. Javier and Sofia on their wedding day. Smiling. Happy.
Alexander picked it up.
He looked at it for a long moment.
Then he smashed it against the stone hearth.
Glass shattered everywhere.
Carmen jumped.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, her voice rising. “You come into my home—”
“Your home?” Alexander turned to face her. “This suite was booked in my daughter’s name. Paid for with my money. Nothing in this room is yours, Carmen. Nothing.”
He took a step toward her.
Carmen, to her credit, didn’t back down. She lifted her chin.
“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing,” she said, “but I suggest you leave before I call security.”
“Call them,” Alexander said. “Please. I’d love to explain to them exactly what happened in this room last night. I’d love for them to see the security footage from the hallway. I’d love to tell them how six women dragged my daughter out of the elevator at 2:14 a.m. and brought her back here.”
The color drained from Carmen’s face.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, but her voice was less steady now.
“No?” Alexander took another step. “You don’t know about the forty slaps? The belt? The six women who held her down while you beat her because she wouldn’t sign over a condo that doesn’t belong to you? You don’t remember telling her that if she went to the police, you’d have her killed?”
Carmen’s hand went to her throat.
“That’s a lie,” she whispered. “Sofia is confused. She drank too much—”
Alexander was suddenly right in front of her.
He didn’t touch her. He didn’t have to. He was six-foot-four, broad-shouldered, and radiating a rage so intense it was almost physical. Carmen actually stumbled backward a step.
“Listen to me very carefully,” he said, his voice so low only she could hear. “I know everything. I know about the seven families you’ve destroyed. I know about the forged wills. I know about the complaints against your son. I know which Manolo Blahnik you wore when you kicked my daughter in the back.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the photograph of the shoe print. He held it up between them.
“This matches the pair you were wearing last night,” he said. “I already have the purchase record from Neiman Marcus. Size seven. Serial number matches the tread exactly.”
Carmen’s mouth opened and closed. No sound came out.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Alexander said. “You and your son are going to pack your bags. You’re going to leave this hotel. You’re going to leave Dallas. And you are never, under any circumstances, going to come within one thousand feet of my daughter again.”
He paused.
“If you do,” he said, “I won’t call the police. I won’t press charges. I will personally destroy everything you have ever built. Every dollar. Every friend. Every memory. By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll be begging to live in a cardboard box under the freeway. Do you understand me?”
Carmen nodded. She was actually shaking now.
“Good,” Alexander said. “You have one hour.”
He turned to leave.
Javier chose that exact moment to walk out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, shaving cream on his face.
He stopped when he saw Alexander.
“Mr. Voss?” he said, confused. “What are you doing here? Where’s Sofia?”
Alexander looked at him.
And for the first time, he smiled.
May you like
It wasn’t a nice smile.
“Hello, Javier,” he said. “We need to talk about your mother.”
