The Only Question That Matters

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It's two in the afternoon, and Rafael's still sleeping. It's so unlike him. Normally he's able to function on a few hours of sleep.

I frown and peer at the half-closed bedroom door. I'm in the kitchen, making chicken soup. He's always loved my soup, but I haven't had the chance to make it since we've gotten back together. This weekend, with all that's happened, seems like a good time for comfort food.

Or maybe I'm the one who needs comfort. I still don't know what happened last night with Rafa and Christine. Or how everything went down. All he'd muttered was something about how everyone had been arrested and that it was over.

My journalist's mind is filled with questions.

I turn the heat on the stove to low and tiptoe to the bedroom, pushing the door open with my fingertips. Rafa's in bed, on his back. He makes a muffled groan, and I pad across the cool cement floor and sit at his side.

I should let him sleep, but I need to look at him, to reassure myself that he's here, with me, forever. Also, I want to make sure he's not having a nightmare.

His eyes flutter open, and he rests his big hand on my leg. "Justi."

I lean forward to kiss his forehead. "Good morning. Or, I should say, good afternoon."

He tugs at my hair and pulls me down for a kiss. Nothing spicy; just a loving, gentle gesture.

"What time is it?" he murmurs. "And what's that incredible smell?"

"It's two o'clock. I'm making chicken soup."

He squeezes my leg. "Did you go to the store? We didn't have any food in the house."

A warm shimmer spreads through my body when I hear him use the word we. "I asked the bodyguard, uh, security guard, to go to the store. I thought you'd want something comforting after last night."

He nods slowly. "Justi, there's something I need to tell you. I wanted to tell you this after I'd had a chance to sleep. And was going to wait until later today, but you deserve to know this now. It's something about last night."

Did he sleep with Christina? My heart leaps into my throat. "What about last night?"

Rafa sits up, leaning against the headboard, and when he scrubs his face with his hands, I know this is serious. "I told you Christina was arrested. And her father."

I nod.

"The boy. Javi. He's in a temporary foster home."

I exhale. Of course he's worried about the child. "That is so awful," I whisper. "I'm sorry. Is there anything we can do? Do they have any family that can take him?"

He shakes his head. "I'm not sure. But, Justine?"

I blink in response.

"Last night, I talked to the agents after the arrests. Apparently they're not sure who Javi's father is."

"Awful. I feel so terrible for that child."

"Justine..."

My eyes narrow. "Well, it's not you. We figured out it couldn't be you."

"Well..." His voice trails off, and my chest tightens.

"Christina apparently has a long history of mental illness. They got ahold of some of her medical records. She's been in and out of hospitals for many reasons over the years. She was fine when she worked for me, because she'd been taking her medication. But when she's off, it becomes a problem."

I can tell by his vague way of speaking that he's hesitating to tell me something. "So what are you saying?"

"She might have been lying about Javi's blood type. About her issues with the Rh factor. We're not sure. They haven't been able to get his birth records yet from the Miami hospital. Something about a computer glitch. Investigators should have them by next week. And I submitted blood for a paternity test."

I nod, my mind swirling. "So there's a chance he's yours." I say this as a statement, not a question.

Rafael squeezes my hand. "Apparently. I still don't think so, because I used protection. But I guess there's that possibility."

We're both quiet, and I rub my own stomach. I remember something Rafael said to me only a few months ago as we sat, glaring at each other in a fog of pain in a low-lit St. Augustine restaurant.

Life doesn't always turn out the way we planned.

"Will you still marry me if Javi is mine?" His voice cracks. I know how difficult this is for him, to share a painful revelation, to admit that things aren't perfect for us.

"Oh, Rafa." I straddle him and take his face in my hands. "Of course. Yes. I want to have the wedding as soon as possible. If Javi's yours, well, that'll mean our family is a little bigger, a little sooner than anticipated. That's all. I'll love him because he's part of you."



The rest of the weekend is subdued. We don't make love; instead we just nap and hold each other. Something's shifted, it seems, and all we want is to cling to each other. He sleeps a lot, and I spend long hours sitting on the balcony, staring at the sea.

"It really is beautiful here," I say, wrapping my arms around him Sunday at sunset. "Let's not give this up. We'll want to come here on weekends."

He laughs softly and kisses the top of my head. "I'll get you to love Miami yet."

"Maybe I'm only now seeing it through your eyes."

On Monday morning, it's back to business. He wakes at five, showers, and shaves. I open one eye to see him slipping a white shirt over those muscles of his. From bed, I hear him in the kitchen, making espresso and tapping on his laptop. Probably checking stock quotes.

I'm dreading today. At one, Christina and her family are scheduled to appear for the first time in federal court. Rafael and I haven't discussed it, but I assume we'll go. I want to attend, just to look Christina in the eyes.

I shower and put on a T-shirt and yoga pants. When I make my way to the kitchen, I'm surprised to see Camilo, the FBI agent, standing in the kitchen talking to Rafa.

I shake hands with Camilo and stand near Rafael, who points at a manila envelope on the island counter. "He's come to bring us the court documents so we can look them over before we go to the hearing."

So we are going to the hearing.

I nod. "Thank you," I say to Camilo. "Thank you for treating us so well. For taking care of Rafael."

Camilo smiles wide. He's so adorable that I wonder if I know any single women who would like to date a sexy, square-jawed FBI agent.

"Of course, ma'am. It's my job." He turns to Rafael. "Thanks for the cafecito, bro. I'll see you later today."

They walk to the door together, and I reach for the envelope. I can't help myself—when a journalist gets exclusive access to records, it's like Christmas Day and New Year's all rolled into one.

As I slide out the papers, Rafael comes back in.

"Is it okay if I—"

He laughs. "I kind of figured you would."

Smiling, I flick through the boilerplate documents that are in every federal court file. Then I find what I want: Christina's criminal affidavit.

"I'll make you some tea," Rafa says.

I nod absentmindedly, barely hearing him, because I'm reading.

AFFIDAVIT IN SUPPORT OF CRIMINAL COMPLAINT

Your affiant, Camilio Ruiz, has been employed as a Special Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) for approximately twelve years. I am currently assigned to the FBI's Miami Division. I have investigated federal violations relating to extortion. I have gained experience through training in seminars, classes, and everyday work related to these types of investigations. I have set forth a summary of the investigation to date in order to establish probable cause that JONATHAN BATES, ALBERTO ALONSO, and CHRISTINA ALONSO violated Title 18, United States Code, Section 1951, in that BATES, ALONSO, and ALONSO did attempt to commit extortion, in which to obstruct, delay, and affect commerce, in that the defendants attempted to obtain property, namely twenty million dollars, from the Victim, and induced by the wrongful use of actual and threatened force, violence, and fear, and monetary harm.

PROBABLE CAUSE

Based on the aforementioned facts, your Affiant respectfully submits that exists probable cause to believe that JONATHAN BATES, ALBERTO ALONSO, and CHRISTINA ALONSO, with intent to extort money from a person, violated 18 U.S.C. 875 (d) and 2(a).

In April of this year, Mr. X, a Miami businessman, via his attorney, contacted the FBI Office in Miami, Florida, and advised the FBI that Mr. X was the subject of a scheme to extort money from him. During a meeting at his Miami condo, Mr. X and his attorney advised the following:

I snort out loud and look up at Rafa. "Mr. X. Jesus."

Rafa cocks an eyebrow. "You doubt my undercover abilities?"

I giggle, more from nervousness, and turn back to the document.

• That he met Jonathan Bates several years ago through business contacts;

• That Jonathan Bates worked for his company for three years;

• That Bates was fired from Mr. X's company after discrepancies were discovered in federal affordable housing contracts;

• That Mr. X. met Alberto Alonso approximately nine years ago through mutual friends at the Spanish Embassy;

• That Mr. X met Alonso's daughter, Christina Alonso, at a party at the Spanish Ambassador's residence approximately seven years ago;

• That Mr. X hired Christina Alonso as a secretary in his company three years ago;

• That he and Christina Alonso had sexual relations once and that he did not speak to her after that night;

I wince at this part. Somehow, it makes Rafa seem like such a jerk. Of course, I know the reasons why he didn't contact her, but still. I read on.

• That in February of this year, two years after their intimate encounter, Christina Alonso called him;

• That in March of this year, Christina Alonso met with him and said her child was his;

• That in April of this year, Alberto Alonso visited him at his Miami condo and said he would inform authorities of Mr. X's involvement in federal affordable housing contract fraud if he didn't marry his daughter;

• That Alberto Alonso said he would cause harm to Mr. X's reputation, livelihood, and personal life by revealing the information;

and

Alberto Alonso gave paperwork of alleged evidence of fraud to Mr. X. FBI agents obtained this paperwork

• That there was a possible discrepancy between the child's blood type and that of Mr. X that would prove he wasn't the father of Christina Alonso's child.

FURTHER EVIDENCE

FBI agents analyzed the documents purporting to show that Mr. X had committed fraud. Since a separate investigation was already underway (see case CR-00382), agents already had obtained the original records in question. It was found that the documents given to Mr. X by Alberto Alonso were forged.

Agents asked Mr. X to meet with the Alonsos so he could obtain further evidence. Mr. X agreed to become a proactive cooperator in the investigation.

I smirk. "Proactive cooperator" is fed-speak for "wearing a wire."

Thereafter, Mr. X, posing as an interested party, agreed to marry Christina Alonso. He met with Alberto Alonso at a Miami restaurant. FBI agents established surveillance, and during that meeting, Alberto Alonso said that he was blackmailing Mr. X into marrying his daughter. FBI agents established surveillance on Christina Alonso at her home. After Mr. X discussed marriage, she freely stated, "He told me that he blackmailed you into marrying me. I'd asked him not to do that. And I didn't believe he'd gone through with it when he first told me. But he said it was the only way that we'd all get what we wanted."

Christina Alonso, in a meeting with Mr. X at an undisclosed hotel in Miami Beach, made similar statements about fraud and blackmail. She added that she would reveal details if Mr. X had sexual relations with her. Additionally, she also made verbal threats against Mr. X's fiancée. Agents also discovered detailed, handwritten plans to threaten and harm Mr. X's fiancée at Christina Alonso's house. These threats of harm included kidnapping and grievous bodily injury.

At this, I gasp. "What threats?" I whisper.

It should be noted that via surveillance techniques, FBI agents observed Christina Alonso remove her clothes and offer additional details about the extortion to Mr. X in exchange for sex. In a recorded phone call, Alberto Alonso told Jonathan Bates that Mr. X had "agreed to the master plan" and that the next step following the wedding to his daughter was to coerce Mr. X to transfer twenty million dollars to him, and to draw up a new will, leaving his daughter the bulk of the estate. Alonso said that they should have asked for money upfront, along with the marriage proposal, and Bates responded:

"Don't worry about it. Once he's married to Christina and living with the kid, he'll do anything you want. A few well-placed fake news tidbits in the gossip rags will keep him in line. Rafael's a greedy motherfucker—remember, he loves money more than anything else on this earth. He won't want his precious business reputation tarnished or his bottom line to suffer. So if he balks, that's when we're going to have to take more serious action. If he happens to have an accident while deep sea fishing, so be it. You might even have to be the one to off him. I know Christina will be devastated, but we'll be able to argue in court that, since she's his wife, she's entitled to his estate."

In a post-Miranda interview, Christina Alonso acknowledged that she was aware of the plot to extort Mr. X. While declining counsel, she said her father and Bates each had reasons to seek revenge on. Mr. X due to business interests and the perceived loss of money on their part. She did not want to seek revenge and added that she only went along with the plot because she "is in love with" Mr. X and insists her child is his. The FBI is seeking DNA testing from both Mr. X and the child and will provide documentation of the paternity of Christina's child in a separate filing of evidence.

Based on the aforementioned facts, your Affiant respectfully submits that exists probable cause to believe that JONATHAN BATES, ALBERTO ALONSO and CHRISTINA ALONSO, with intent to extort money from a person, violated 18 U.S.C. 875 (d) and 2(a).

I set the sheaf of papers on the white granite countertop. My eyes flash briefly to Rafa, who is watching me.

I'm going to throw up.

"Need to use the bathroom," I mumble and run out of the room. I want two barriers between me and that affidavit—the bedroom door, and the bathroom door. I shut both, quietly, then retch into the toilet.

"Justi?" There's a sharp rap on the door. "Open up."

I gasp for air. My stomach is doing flip-flops. They'd had a plan to kill Rafael. Kill. Him.

The gravity of that hits me. Somehow, I could handle and accept the threats against me. But I've never contemplated a world where he's not in it, not even the years we were apart. And now, with just that one piece of paper, everything seems so...tenuous.

What would I do without him?

My fingers grasp for the cool porcelain of the sink as my legs threaten to give way. This is what it means to love someone: the acknowledgement that someday, they could be gone.

I heave what's left in my stomach into the toilet.

"Please? Justi? Let me help you."

Taking a swig of mouthwash, I spit it into the sink. With a big inhale to steel myself, I open the door because he asked so nicely. There was a time that Rafa would have just barged in, invaded my privacy. He's learning some boundaries, I muse, in an attempt to cheer myself up.

"I'm sorry," he says in Spanish, in a husky tone. "God, I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." I flush the toilet and shut the lid, my mouth set in a grim line. I hate for him to see me like this, all disheveled, smelling like vomit. Especially since he's in his sharp business clothes.

He takes me by the upper arms. "It's over. We can't dwell on this."

"I know. It's just that reading the affidavit made everything so vivid. So real. I had no idea how much danger you were in."

"I had no idea how much danger you were in. That's what I didn't know, and that's what was eating me alive. It's part of the reason why I stayed in bed this weekend. I'd never have forgiven myself if something happened to you."

I also suspected that he felt like shit for having to play along with a naked Christina, but I wasn't going down that road right now. I didn't want to make him relive it, any more than I wanted to hear about it.

"I'm sorry I brought this on you while you're pregnant. You didn't deserve this. It's all my fault, Justine, and I'm scared that you won't forgive me."

"Of course I'll forgive you. I love you." I rub my lips and stare into his handsome face, trying not to cry. Trying to stay strong, for him. "But some of this might be my fault. Maybe if I hadn't left you in the first place, you'd have never met these lunatics. Or she would have stayed away." I sink onto the closed toilet seat, pressing my face into my palms.

"Hey..." He drops to his knees. "Remember we agreed not to have regrets of the past? We have no idea how our lives would have played out had we stayed together."

I stare at him and nod. He's right, of course. Any number of scenarios could've played out.

"Remember how we said we'd only focus on the future?"

"Yeah. I do."

"So let's talk about the future. Will you marry me as soon as possible?" He pauses and looks around the bathroom. "Quite the proposal, isn't it?"

A sweet, small smile creeps on his face, and I begin to giggle. He kisses the back of my right hand, then my left. He straightens the engagement ring on my finger, then kisses my palm, glancing at me the entire time with those gorgeous, dreamy, dark eyes of his.

"I will, Rafa," I whisper. "Of course I will. There's nothing I want more than to be your wife."



The federal

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