I looked around my kitchen. The house I bought with my late husband. The house I raised Javier in. The house where Lucía sat at my table every Sunday and called me mamá.
“No,” I whispered. “I don’t feel safe.”
“We’re freezing your card and issuing a new one. You’ll have it in two days. We’re also filing an internal fraud alert under her name. If she tries this with another institution, she’ll be flagged.”
I thanked her.
She didn’t hang up right away.
“Mrs. Ríos, I see this more than you’d think. People who love us sometimes steal from us because they believe we owe them. You don’t owe anyone access to your money. Not even your son.”
After the call ended, I sat in silence for twenty minutes.
Then my phone exploded.
Javier: Mom the hotel says the reservation is canceled. What happened?
Javier: MOM ANSWER.
Javier: We’re boarding in fifteen minutes. Fix this NOW.
Lucía: What did you do????
Lucía: You’re seriously going to ruin this trip because your feelings are hurt? Grow up.
Then a call. From Javier.
I answered.
“Mom what the hell is going on?”
His voice was loud. Panicked. People were talking in the background.
“I canceled the reservations.”
“You what?”
“I canceled everything.”
“Why would you do that?”
I didn’t yell. I didn’t cry.
“Because Lucía tried to steal from me.”
“That’s not—Mom, she didn’t steal anything.”
“She tried to add four thousand euros of charges to my card without asking. She tried to make herself an authorized user on my account. She called the hotel six days ago and tried to transfer everything to her mother’s name.”
Silence.
“Javier, did you know?”
More silence.
Then, quietly:
“She said you’d be fine with it.”
