As if Clara had not already spent well over 180,000 pesos before breakfast.
“She used my card to purchase a first-class ticket to Tokyo,” I said. “There are purchases for airfare, retail stores, restaurants, access to the lounge…”
“Clara would never do that.”
“She posted a picture online.”
“Maybe she was using her own money.”
“Dad, I sent her 1,500 pesos last week because she was saying that she didn’t have enough money to buy food.”
“You always keep track of everything where your sister is concerned.”
I surveyed the apartment: the receipt, the glass with lipstick stain, the door to the bedroom was open, the card was missing, the bracelet was missing, the USB drive was missing.”I have already reported the fraud to you,” I stated.
His entire demeanor changed at that moment.
“What did you do, exactly?”
“I reported the fraud.”
“You reported the fraud on your sister?”
“I reported it on the person who had used my card without my permission.”
“Contact the bank and advise them it was an error.”
“It was not.”
“You have no proof of that.”
“Yes I do.”
“Perhaps you accidentally gave your sister permission and then forgot about it.”
That was what struck me the most.
Even though my father could see the charges, the photos, the dates, the evidence, he still chose to think that I was mistaken.
“What do you think I did forget; approving my unemployed sister to be able to spend over 180,000 pesos on a trip to Japan?”
“I believe when it comes to Clara, you tend to get overly dramatic.”
I ended the call.
I remembered the camera then.
After the package had gone missing from my building, I had installed a small camera in the entryway of my apartment. The camera only responded to movement at my door.
I opened the application.
The video from 2:56 a.m. downloaded.
Clara was seen in my black coat while pulling a suitcase, followed by Paola, who was laughing quietly. Clara was holding my card.
Also, my spare key.
Before she left, Clara looked directly into the camera and smiled.
As if she knew I would watch.
As if she was challenging me.
Then Paola said something I had to rewind three times:
“Your dad said he would take care of Ale.”
I suddenly stopped moving.
It was now not only a theft issue.
It was a conspiracy.
And I now had proof my family was more involved than I wanted to believe.All evidence collected (bank alerts, Instagram posts, ride receipts, camera footage, communications with my father, as well as emails from the bank) and took screenshots of Clara wearing the bracelet I gave her at the VIP area of the casino The Plaza.
At noon on Wednesday, I met with the manager of the building Don Julián and together we reviewed the footage from the hallway cameras. At 2:58 PM Clara and Paola exited the building with their suitcases. They entered a car at 3:03 PM.
As we were watching the footage together, Don Julián shook his head.
“I often find that family members take more from you than complete strangers,” said Don Julián.
The bank froze my debit card and began investigating.
Later that same afternoon, I received a box decorated with a beautiful gold ribbon in the mail. Inside were the beautiful scarf I had sent Clara all the way from Tokyo, along with a letter from Clara.
“Put this on you will look less bitter. Love you.”
I took a photograph of the scarf and saved it in my evidence file.
That same day, I received a phone call from a detective named Herrera from the district attorney’s office. He asked if I intended to file a formal complaint against Clara.
I looked at the guest room that was full of all the items Clara had been taking out of my apartment as though they were hers.
“Yes,” I replied. “Even though she is my sister.”
On Thursday, I found a receipt under Clara’s bed for a pair of suitcases that had been purchased with cash two days prior to Clara taking my debit card out of my possession. On the receipt was a note written on the back:
“Do not back out. She owes you.”
The writing on the note was unmistakably my father’s handwriting.
At that point, I thought I was going to faint.
I called my uncle Ramón because he is the only person in my family who has never treated Clara like she was an accident waiting to happen. I took my laptop and all the evidence to him.As he examined an image of the lost USB stick, he couldn’t help but notice the floral pattern that was present beneath it: blue blossoms on white cloth.
Auntie immediately recognized it.
“That’s Marta’s kitchen tablecloth.”
Marta was the mother of Paola.
Later that evening, Paola messaged me from a number I didn’t recognize.
“Lift the report, Ale. You have no idea what Clara gave us.”
She also attached an image of my USB stick atop of the same tablecloth.
This was the first time I had ever experienced genuine fear. The USB stick held all of my business back-up files.
But then I remembered something.
Several months prior, I had installed a stealth access tracker on the USB stick while conducting an audit for a customer. If someone plugged it into a computer and it subsequently connected to the internet, I would get an alert telling me the computer name and ip address location.
At 9:43 p.m., I received an alert stating that the USB stick had been accessed.
However, it was not accessed at Paola’s home, but rather at my father’s office.
On Friday, I invited my father and mother into my apartment with the purpose of “talking”. For the purpose of making Clara feel welcome, I ordered sushi because she likes it.
Clara visited wearing a pair of designer sandals that I remembered seeing on my credit card statement.
Behind Clara walked my father, in a stern manner, as though he were the judge in a court of law.