Читать книгу Still Standing - Anaité Alvarado - Страница 9

My First Hearing

I woke up startled. As I opened my eyes and turned my head away from the concrete wall I was facing, I saw a guard on the other side of the metal bars staring at me. Carmen was awake and asked him for the time. It was impossible for us to know the time since we had no watch, no cell phone, there was no clock, and the sunlight did not reach our underground cell. “It’s 4:10 a.m.,” replied the guard. The basement was calmer at this time of night, but there was still constant yelling, metal doors clanking, and electric lights buzzing overhead. I turned my head back around, closed my eyes, and did my best to continue sleeping a little while longer.

It must have been around 6:30 a.m. when the doors clanked open and the first prisoners of the day—two women from a prison called Centro de Orientación Femenina (COF)—walked into our cell. I got up from my bench, used the restroom, and began to think about what I would say to the judge. Unlike Carmen, who had spent months preparing for this possibility, I had only learned about my predicament less than twenty-four hours earlier, when my attorney, whom I had met for the first time the day before, had brought a copy of Olyslager’s accusations against me and had asked me to read it. “Prepare to give a statement in front of the judge,” he had said, and added that I should claim my innocence, explain that I did not know this man, and even cry, if possible. Welcome to the world of justice, where he who tells the best story wins.

My hearing was scheduled for 9 a.m., and I still had no idea what I should or would say. While I waited for news or contact of any kind from the outside world, I folded Carmen’s blanket and offered what food I had left to the newly arrived women. Meanwhile, Carmen changed into a blouse and a pair of pants, which were way too long for the flat shoes she was wearing. She sat on the bench next to me and began applying her makeup, wielding magic with the tiny makeup case she had been given. Once done, she glanced over at me and asked, “Do I look OK?” To which I quickly answered in amazement, “Yes!” She looked great.

After spending four days and four nights in that holding cell, about to face the hearing of her life, Carmen was an example to us all. She managed to prepare herself, remain calm and focused, and with very little sleep, if any, she walked out of the carceleta with her head high, her makeup on, and yet another beautiful braid, which would later become famous, dangling down her back. As she left the cell later that Friday morning, the inmates all cheered and wished her well. “God be with you, Licenciada,” they said, using the title you give people with academic degrees.

Her hearing before a judge, and the media spotlight lasted eight hours, and after all was said and done, the judge sent her to preventive custody at El Centro de Detención Preventiva para Mujeres Santa Teresa. In the ensuing months, I could not stop thinking about her. When I met her, I had known nothing about her case, despite how public it had been. All I knew was that I met someone who was going through one of the worst moments of her life and still managed to be generous to me. Little did I know that that would not be the last time we crossed paths.

Soon after the women from COF arrived, another group of inmates from Santa Teresa came into our cell. I struck up a conversation with a young woman whom I recognized from the previous day. She had stood out that day, amusing us with her antics when she hung out by the open prison bars and asked people for cigarettes as they drove by in their cars. She was probably close to thirty years old, short, chubby, and spunky, and was wearing white jeans and a skimpy black and yellow tank top—one of those people who are hard to forget. As we talked, she told me she had already spent three years in Santa Teresa while she waited for the Attorney General’s Office to finish its investigation. She was accused of being a gang member and an extortionist, along with five other women and several men, but she claimed that they were all from different parts of Guatemala and that none of them knew one another on the streets; however, she did confess that after being unemployed for months, when a friend offered her $13.50 to go to the bank and cash a check for her, knowing she needed the money, she accepted. She was well aware this was not kosher, but she agreed anyway and decided to not ask questions. However, she claimed to have never partaken in gang member activities.

Meanwhile, she’d been separated from her eleven-year-old daughter for the past three years, not only because she was behind bars, but because her sister had refused to bring the girl to prison to visit her. This was one of the many stories I would continue to encounter in the following years, stories that shed light on different realities I had been unaware of in the past, realities and people that would soon become a piece of the fabric that makes up who I am today.

—

After sending Carmen off to her fate before the judge, we all returned to our places and waited. There was not much else to do in the carceleta but wait. I glanced over the copy of Olyslager’s accusations and read it once again, scribbling notes beside every statement that involved me. I had no idea what they were basing their accusations on, but I was quite sure it was very unlikely that they had any documents incriminating me because I am one of those rare people who actually read every word on a document before signing it. However, I was married to the main defendant, so I could have inadvertently signed something along the way. Everything else regarding this situation was out of my hands, so I reminded myself that all I had to do was tell the truth.

At around 8:30 a.m., my name was called. The women wished me good luck and repeated, “¡Que Dios la acompañe, Seño!” Yes, may God be with me. The guards opened the door and my newly appointed young male guard handcuffed me. I was searched by a female courthouse security officer before I was allowed to enter the tower and walk up the four flights of stairs. I was speechless when I reached the second floor and found my friends Karla and Tuffy; my two brothers; my sister, Gaby, and her husband, Carlos; and my dad waiting for me. A short while later, my stepmother, Anamaría, and my dear friends Kali and Christie joined us.

While my 9 a.m. hearing kept getting pushed back, we managed to use the extra time together that morning to chat, cry, and even laugh. How blessed I felt in spite of the situation. Karla had brought me a small makeup bag with a bit of everything, a small treasure in that barren place.

I cannot begin to imagine what my loved ones felt as they waited in the same hallway as Olyslager. It was surreal for me, too. I couldn’t believe what he was putting us through, but somehow, we all managed to keep calm. If he had done this to someone I love, rather than to me, I am not sure I could have contained my fury.

My name was finally called and it was time to face the judge. My loved ones hugged me, Christie put a Saint Benito bracelet on my wrist, and Tuffy placed a religious commemorative stamp in my back pocket and said, “You are going in holding the Virgin Mary’s hand.” I am not a religious person, because I have never needed religion to feel God as ever-present in my life, but I must confess that Tuffy’s statement did make me feel protected as I walked toward my unknown fate.

I entered the courtroom handcuffed, next to my attorney and followed by my guard, with a clear conscience, because I had nothing to hide. Olyslager came in with his attorney, the state’s public prosecutor, and two other men. I had no idea why there were so many people there, carrying suitcases full of papers, while I had nothing but my scribbled notes on the copy of Olyslager’s accusation against me, and an attorney who was a stranger I had just briefly met the day before, holding a couple of folders in his hands. The day I was apprehended, my family was forced to find a lawyer as quickly as possible to try to mend the unforeseen circumstances I was suddenly facing. Arturo Miranda was recommended by one of our acquaintances and was immediately hired. I could only pray that Miranda had prepared sufficiently and was good at his job.

The room was small, but it managed to hold the judge’s bench, a young man seated next to the judge working on a computer, and two other desks facing the judge: one for my attorney and me, the other for the opposing team. As I sat there observing my surroundings, the judge finally walked in and we all stood up. While we waited for the judge’s instructions, I asked my guard to loosen my cuffs because they were hurting me.

I now knew that this day had been in the works for over a year, because Olyslager´s statements against me at the Attorney General’s Office were dated October 15, 2014. This indicates how long it had taken for a judge to sign an arrest warrant against me, and the time it had taken the accusers to execute the master plan to include me as the third person necessary to make this a criminal case. They could have chosen my husband’s assistant, or maybe a junior accountant, but they had chosen me. They had had over a year to reconsider, to realize that there was no evidence against me, that I was already a victim, that I had two small children. But they obviously did not care. I was not human to them. I was simply a dispensable object they were going to use to get to my husband.

The legal proceeding that followed is a bit murky in my mind because I frankly did not understand much of what was happening; I was completely overwhelmed by the circumstances. I do remember that one of the first things Olyslager’s attorney did was ask the judge to recuse herself. Why? Because the attorney represented the law firm of Hector and Frank Trujillo, and they were the judge’s first cousins. I couldn’t believe my ears. If the judge recused herself due to this conflict, I would have to spend the entire weekend in the courthouse’s holding cell until another judge could hear my case on Monday or Tuesday. To my dismay, the judge agreed; however, she clarified that she would recuse herself from this case only after she had heard my first declaration, as it was my right to be heard by a judge within twenty-four hours of my apprehension. And so, I survived the first blow of many still to come.

It was now my turn, time to give my statement, which was basically a response to Olyslager’s accusatory testimony against me. I looked him straight in the eye and stated that I did not know him, that I had never spoken to him, that I had never asked him for money, that I had never accepted or received money from him, nor had I ever managed his money. I said I considered it an act of cowardice to attack me in response to the hatred he held for my husband, and that I considered his accusations violence against my integrity, my reputation, my emotional state, and my financial well-being. I continued with my statement, explaining that I had only become aware of my husband’s financial troubles on July 29, 2014, and had been fortunate to have been hired as fundraising and public relations coordinator for AYUVI shortly thereafter. Furthermore, I made it clear that that job had allowed me to put food on the table, and today, because of these false accusations, I had lost that precious employment.

I spoke about the Entrepreneur Organization (EO), where Olyslager claimed he had met my husband, and where he claimed he had met me. I explained that I had never been a member of that organization, and that if I had assisted, it had been on very few occasions when the organization hosted family activities. I was sure they could contact the organization and learn exactly how many events I had ever attended.

Then I went one step further: I asked them to present any e-mails, messages, times, places, dates, or any other form of communication between Olyslager and myself. I was sure not a single one existed and they would come up empty-handed. I then added that I had tried to save my marriage during the ten months after I had become aware of my husband’s dire financial situation, but that I had not succeeded. I told them that my husband and I had been separated for the past five months, and divorce was now inevitable.

I also made sure to remind the court that I am a dual US-Guatemalan citizen. I was born in Miami and I pay US taxes. I told them that my finances are an open book and that my bank accounts speak for themselves, yet no one had asked me to disclose them. Finally, I told the judge that I needed to go home to my children.

I am sure there was more, but this is all I remember. Maybe one day I will be able to read the court transcripts or hear the audio.

Then came the questions. I was interrogated by Olyslager’s attorney, the attorneys representing Global Forest Partners, and the public prosecutor, and I responded as best I could. My accusers were ruthless and made horrifying statements, accusing me of awful things as they presented piles of documents for the judge to review. They claimed it was evidence, but there was no way any human could go through all that paperwork in the short time we had before us. According to them, all the evidence was against my husband, but I had been instrumental in getting investors to invest. They claimed that when my husband received the money, he transferred it to my accounts, where I managed it further. Where was the evidence of these transactions? I was flabbergasted. I had to sit there, handcuffed and silent, while they went on and on about me with accusations that they had to know were false, with no regard for the damage they were causing an innocent person, and all before a judge who did not know me, but held my future in her hands. After my accusers finished destroying my name with unsubstantiated lies, the judge had to come to a decision, without having time to even flip through the piles of documents, simply going on what was stated thus far in court that day.

To my surprise, she concluded that since there was no report from IVE (Intendencia de Verificación Especial, also known internationally as Unidad de Análisis Financiero or UAF, a special department created in 2001 aimed to prevent money laundering and the financing of terrorism in Guatemala), the money laundering accusation should be thrown out. She then said she didn’t understand why there were attorneys representing Global Forest Partners (GFP) present during a hearing where Olyslager was the claimant, to which GFP’s attorneys from the law firm of Mayora & Mayora revealed that they were joint plaintiffs.

Finally, the judge asked all parties what they were requesting from the court. The public prosecutor, who was there on behalf of the state, alleging that a law had been broken, and the two attorneys from Mayora & Mayora representing GFP requested preventive detention, claiming that since I am a US citizen, as well as a Guatemalan citizen, and had means, I was a flight risk and could flee the country as the other two accused already had. Up until the day before, my husband and his accountant weren’t officially fleeing; however, when a warrant for their arrest was issued and they were nowhere to be found, they officially became fugitives of the law.

When the judge asked Olyslager’s attorney what they were asking for, Olyslager leaned over to his attorney and whispered something in his ear. Startled, the attorney stared back at him speechless and Olyslager simply said, “Will you say it, or should I?” The attorney reluctantly proceeded, “My client, Mr. Olyslager, wants the court to know that he will soon be a father and he does not request the court to send the accused to prison.”

The last one to speak was my attorney, Arturo Miranda. Up until that moment, I had no idea if my attorney was any good, but as soon as he began, nobody in that courtroom could take their eyes off him. It was as if the lion had woken up and everyone present was wishing to one day be like him. Unlike the insignificant attorney representing Olyslager, attorney Juan Ignacio Gómez-Cuevas from Mayora & Mayora representing GFP, and the attorney general’s public prosecutor, Miranda was not only well prepared and efficient, but he had the necessary ammunition to counter the attacks. His passion left me in awe. Among other things, he claimed that the only option was to let me go home, since there was not a single piece of evidence hinting at my involvement.

The judge linked me to due process and declared that I could go home during the following three months of investigation. She stated that I should not leave the country without prior authorization, and that I should sign the book at the Attorney General’s Office every fifteen days to prove that I had not fled the country. She did not set bail, deciding that it wasn’t needed. I’d be going home that same afternoon.

We left the courtroom and my loved ones were waiting outside with open arms. We were all relieved, but I knew the nightmare was just beginning; it would continue its course and I had no choice but to let it. I still could not believe it. I had returned to Guatemala and stayed there, knowing that I had done no wrong and naively thinking there was no reason to fear or to hide. How wrong I had been. No wonder most people in this country decide to flee at the first sight of legal trouble, instead of trusting the justice system. In Guatemala’s defense, and notwithstanding my husband’s alleged actions, this legal strategy orchestrated by Olyslager and his attorney, the law firm of Mayora & Mayora representing Global Forest Partners, and an apparently partial public prosecutor, is one of the vilest I have witnessed and experienced in my life. But then again, I am not an attorney and I had never been in legal trouble before.

—

I was sent back to the carceleta to wait as the officers prepared the paperwork for my release. The moment I stepped inside the holding cell, the women asked me how it had gone and if I was to go home that day. I was still in shock and couldn’t allow myself to be happy about the news, because I didn’t feel I could trust the court to efficiently process and guarantee my release that day. That was immediately followed by another thought: how could I show happiness about going home when I was surrounded by so many women who may not have the same privilege that day? So, I quietly answered, “God willing, I should go home today.” And to my utmost surprise, these women, each one dealing with her own personal story, many facing years behind bars far away from their loved ones, and most lacking the support and resources I had, approached me one by one to hug me and wish me well. That pure and humane gesture moved me to the core.

I’m not sure how much time went by, but eventually my name was called and I was asked to step out of the carceleta. I said my goodbyes and wished the women luck, never imagining I would see this place again so soon. I was then taken to sign the exit book, where we waited for some paperwork to come through. Finally, I was led back up the same ramp I had walked down less than thirty-six hours before. Once again, as we passed the men’s holding cell, the male inmates got rowdy while the police officers were gentlemen. Miranda was by my side every step of the way, until he delivered me safely to my family, waiting outside on the street. I gave him a long heartfelt hug and thanked him.

Once I’d got into the car, I spoke to my friends on my cell phone and they asked me if they could come over to my house to see me. I was exhausted, but how could I say no? I warned them I had nothing to offer them at home but that I needed to see them, hug them, share my story with them in the flesh, and simply have the same wonderful and blessed time we always have when we are together.

As I walked through my front door, I was lovingly greeted by my dogs, Sidney and Chelsea, and warmly welcomed with a hug by my housekeeper, Olga. My children were supposed to come home that night, but they were so happy spending time with their cousins at my brother Turi’s home, that my mother decided to let them stay the night. This worked out fine. It would give me time to celebrate with my family and friends, and allow me a desperately needed good night’s sleep in my own bed that night.

I managed to take a warm shower and change into sweatpants. My freshly washed hair was wet and gathered in a messy bun, and I was makeup-free. Several weeks would pass before I was able to wear makeup again. It seemed useless because any eye makeup I put on was inevitably washed away by tears. Vanity had become irrelevant.

Soon, my angels, my chosen brothers and sisters, began to pour into my home, each bearing a bottle of wine, cheese, or some other goody to share, along with those quiet, long hugs that say it all. We have spent a lifetime growing and learning together, sharing success, defeat, sadness, and joy, and here they were once again, by my side, replenishing my soul, allowing me to share my experience, letting me cry and laugh at the absurdity of it all.

I had just been through thirty-six of the most intense hours of personal growth I had ever experienced, and I had verified that I have an amazing family and unconditional friends, and that the love I am showered with is much more powerful than the hate Juan Pablo Olyslager Muñoz and a team of well-known attorneys could throw my way. I knew the battle would be long and hard, but now I also knew it would not be impossible.