Chapter 7 - THE VIDEO THAT MADE ME LOOK GUILTY
The board watched the footage three times.
So did I.
There was no uncertainty about the man on the screen. I wore the navy sweater Patricia gave me for Christmas. The scar across my right thumb was visible when I lifted the pen. I opened the folder, read the first page, signed four documents, and left.
The timestamp placed the recording two weeks after Camila’s accident.
“I don’t remember this,” I said.
One director removed his glasses.
“Arturo, the recording is clear.”
Elena requested the original file, security system logs, and metadata. The board’s temporary chair refused to delay the vote.
Navarro Coastal Holdings removed me as chairman by a vote of eight to three.
Marcus, though missing and under investigation, had succeeded in separating me from the company before anyone proved how he manipulated the footage.
News outlets played the video repeatedly.
Commentators called me a hypocrite.
Patricia’s involvement no longer looked like betrayal. It looked like participation in a plan I created and later denied.
Victor’s attorneys seized upon the footage, claiming he believed every agreement had been approved by the Navarro family.
Even Camila questioned me.
She watched the recording in Rebecca’s office, then asked to meet at a quiet public garden.
“Tell me the truth,” she said.
“I don’t remember signing those papers.”
“That is not the same as saying you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Were you taking medication after my accident?”
“Sleeping pills occasionally.”
“Drinking?”
“Sometimes.”
“Could Mom have placed documents in front of you?”
“Yes.”
Her face tightened.
“So you may have signed away my shares without reading.”
The shame was unbearable because it was possible.
During those weeks, I slept four hours a night. The Madrid acquisition consumed every conversation. Patricia often placed household approvals beside breakfast—insurance forms, property repairs, foundation checks.
I signed quickly.
Trusting her.
Trusting myself.
“Camila, whether I signed or not, I failed you.”
“I need facts, Dad.”
“So do I.”
She stood.
“I can forgive absence eventually. I don’t know whether I can forgive you deciding my future was another document on your desk.”
After she left, I returned to Elena’s office and watched the footage frame by frame.
At 7:42:11, I entered the study.
At 7:43:03, Patricia handed me the folder.
At 7:44:18, I began signing.
At 7:45:02, I left.
Forty-four seconds to read and sign four complex documents.
“That sounds like you,” Elena said. “Not because you are careless, but because you trusted the person presenting them.”
Samuel enlarged the image.
“The top page is not the Pacific Heritage agreement.”
“How can you tell?”
“The logo position.”
He compared the visible page with the forged contract. The heading in the video sat lower. A faint image appeared near the bottom.
A paintbrush.
May you like
Camila’s art foundation used a paintbrush emblem.
The original folder likely contained routine
