Chapter 4 - The Digital Paper Trail
By 1:15 a.m., the kitchen table was entirely covered in paper.
Valeria sat opposite me, her color slowly returning, though her hands still shook slightly when she lifted her coffee mug. Her second phone—the one Rodrigo didn't know about, the one I had bought for her under my own name a year ago—lay silent between us.
"Mija," I said softly, pointing to the log she had written. "The dates. January 15th, February 2nd, March 19th... where were you when these things happened?"
"The house in Alamo Heights," she whispered, her voice cracking before she caught herself and cleared her throat, forcing her shoulders back. "Every time, it was behind closed doors, Dad. Except for March. March was at Ofelia’s estate in Boerne. We were in the garden room. Ofelia saw him push me into the stone planter. She just... she called a maid to clean up the spilled dirt from the fern. Then she told me that if I learned to anticipate his moods, he wouldn't have to correct me."
"Did you go to a clinic? A doctor? Anyone?"
"No," she said, looking down at her silver watch. "He monitors the insurance statements. He has an alert on his phone for any medical charge under my name. I used to go to the grocery store pharmacy in Southtown to buy premium concealer just to cover the marks on my collarbone."
I didn't let the anger show on my face. An angry cop makes mistakes; a precise cop builds a cage.
I turned on my old department laptop—the one I kept connected to a secure VPN. For fifteen years before my retirement, I had worked with a network of domestic violence advocates, forensic accountants, and digital safety experts. I opened an encrypted messaging app and pulled up a contact named Mateo.
Mateo was a forensic data specialist who used to trace cartel money through local real estate shell companies. He owed me his life after an extraction went wrong in the West Side back in 2018.
I need a full digital audit on Rodrigo Harrington and De La Vega Concrete Holdings, I typed. Look for the accounts he uses for personal expenses. Look for anything tied to the 4th Court of Appeals.
Ten minutes later, the screen blinked.
Ernesto, Mateo responded. The concrete company has three separate sub-contracting lines funded by city bond money. Rodrigo handles the discretionary ledger. Give me two hours. If he’s using corporate accounts to pay off personal liabilities or lifestyle assets for his family, it’s not just a domestic case anymore. It’s a state audit nightmare.
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"What are we doing, Dad?" Valeria asked, her eyes searching my face, looking for the certainty she had lost somewhere during her marriage.
"We’re taking his kingdom away, Valeria," I told her, closing the laptop screen halfway so the light didn't hit her eyes. "Men like Rodrigo only look big because they stand on a pile of money and influence. We remove the pile, and he's just a small, cowardly man who hurts women because he's terrified of his own insignificance."
