Chapter 14 - RODRIGO’S TRIAL
Rodrigo went to trial on the charges he did not resolve through plea negotiations. The government focused narrowly.
False trustee documents. Unauthorized cross-border transfers.
Fraudulent corporate certifications. Not adultery.
Not friendship. Not my punch.
The evidence was documents, devices, witnesses, and money. Mariana testified under cooperation agreement.
Defense attacked her. Rightly.
She had lied repeatedly. She had benefited.
She had reason to reduce her own sentence. Then corroborating records mattered.
Rodrigo’s messages. The CEO covenant.
The Zurich chain. The spare hardware token.
His voice notes. Then his lawyers produced Mariana’s messages authorizing “whatever trustee mechanism works.”
That hurt her credibility. She admitted writing it.
“What did you mean?” “I meant find a legal mechanism.”
Did she know Rodrigo would forge me? She later learned and signed anyway.
Again. No clean line.
Then Gregory testified. He admitted his own borrowing.
His own hidden transfers. His own pride.
Rodrigo’s lawyer asked: “You are blaming Mr. Santillan because your daughter went to prison and you lost your company?”
Gregory answered: “I am blaming him for what he did. I am blaming myself for what I did.”
Good answer. Then Thomas Reed testified about the trust package.
Bank verification failure. Forgery indicators.
No drama. Then me.
I testified to facts. I did not call Rodrigo a monster.
I said he was my best friend. I said he knew I did not authorize the trust transfer.
How know? Because he never once asked me.
Then defense asked about my punch. “Yes. I hit him.”
“Because he was sleeping with your wife?” “Yes.”
“You hated him?” “At that moment, yes.”
“So you have bias?” “Of course.”
The jury saw me. Human.
Then the prosecutor asked: “Does hating him make this signature yours?” “No.”
That was enough. Verdict: Guilty on several fraud and wire-related counts.
Acquitted on one conspiracy count where evidence of agreement with Gregory was too uncertain. Good.
Then sentencing later. Substantial prison. Restitution. Forfeiture.
No cinematic hundred-year sentence. A serious one.
Before he was taken away, Rodrigo looked at me. I expected apology.
He said: “Tell your dad I’m sorry.” I almost laughed because Dad was dead.
Then realized he knew. Maybe he meant at the grave.
I answered: “You tell him yourself someday.” Not spiritually.
In his own conscience. Then I left.
May you like
The courthouse steps were full of cameras. I said nothing.
The man who had been my best friend for eighteen years had become a federal defendant. No sound bite could explain that.
