The Counter-Suit

The courier looked out of place on Calle Sanchez.

He was riding a generic scooter, but he was wearing a helmet that cost more than my weekly wages and holding a leather document pouch embossed with a logo I knew too well: Vanderbilt & Associates. Catalina’s New York fixers.

I was sitting at the front counter of the shop, trying to fix the jammed paper cutter with a butter knife because we couldn't afford a screwdriver set.

"Maximiliano DeLuca?" the courier asked, not removing his helmet.

"That's me," I said, not looking up.

"Sign."

He shoved a digital pad at me. I signed with my thumb, leaving a smudge of grease on the screen. He handed me a thick, cream-colored envelope and sped off before the dust settled.

The envelope was heavy. It smelled of expensive stationery and impending doom.

Sofía walked out from the back, wiping her hands on a rag. She saw the envelope. She went still.

"Is it divorce papers?" she asked.

"Heavier," I said.

I ripped it open. I pulled out a stack of documents bound with a red ribbon.

1. Defamation of Character.
2. Corporate Sabotage.
3. Theft of Trade Secrets.
4. Intentional Infliction of Emotional Distress.

I laughed. It was a dry, hollow sound.

"Fifteen million," I read aloud. "She thinks I have fifteen million dollars? She froze my accounts. I can't even buy a Empanada."

"Keep reading," Sofía said, pointing to a smaller, clipped letter on top. "That is the stick. Where is the carrot?"

I unfolded the letter. It was on Catalina’s personal letterhead.

Max,

The situation at the Gala was unfortunate. Dr. Aris agrees that it was a clear psychotic break induced by grief and heat exhaustion.

If you sign the attached affidavit admitting that your statements regarding the marble were false and made during a mental health crisis, I will drop the lawsuit.

Furthermore, I will wire $500,000 to an account of your choosing immediately. You can pay off your 'friends' in the Dominican Republic and return to New York for treatment.

This offer expires in 24 hours.

- C

I stared at the letter.

Five hundred thousand dollars.

It wasn't fifteen million, but it was enough. It was enough to pay off Vila. It was enough to buy the building for Sofía outright. It was enough to fix the Heidelberg press, buy a new truck, and ensure Sofía never had to worry about money again.

All I had to do was say I was crazy. All I had to do was tell the world that the fake marble was real, and that I was the broken one.

"Five hundred thousand," Sofía whispered, reading over my shoulder.

"It pays off Vila," I said, my voice flat. "It saves the shop. Today."

Sofía walked around the counter. She stood in front of me.

"And what happens to the truth?" she asked. "What happens to the hotel? If you say you lied, they reopen it. People sleep there. And one day, it burns down."

"Maybe," I said, playing devil's advocate. "Or maybe she fixes it quietly once I'm gone. She just wants to save face."

"She wants to own you," Sofía corrected. "Again."

She picked up the affidavit.

I, Maximiliano DeLuca, hereby retract my statements...

"If you sign this," Sofía said, her dark eyes boring into mine, "you are selling your soul, Max. You are saying that your sanity has a price tag."

"But it saves you," I argued. "Sofía, we have 28 days left on the eviction notice. I make 1500 pesos a day carrying buckets. I can't save you with sweat. I can save you with this pen."

It was the classic dilemma. The hero's sacrifice. Destroy my reputation to save the woman I loved.

Sofía took the paper from my hand.

She didn't tear it up. That would be dramatic.

She walked over to the paper cutter—the one I had been trying to fix.

She slid the affidavit under the blade.

Chunk.

She sliced it in half.

Chunk.

Quarters.

Chunk.

Confetti.

She swept the pieces onto the floor.

"I would rather lose the shop," she said fiercely, "than live with a man who let himself be bought. We are not for sale, Max. Not for five hundred thousand. Not for fifteen million."

She grabbed my face in her hands.

"You are not crazy. You are the sanest man I know. Do not let her rewrite your story."

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. The temptation vanished, replaced by a surge of terrifying, exhilarating freedom.

"Okay," I whispered. "No deal."

"No deal," she confirmed. "Now, fix the cutter properly. We have flyers to print."