Carmen María Montiel - Stolen Identity

The girl who was my cellmate had a weird suggestion. She said she had a sugar daddy. And she was in prison! How did she manage a sugar daddy while in prison? It is a bizarre world.

“You should get a sugar daddy, too,” she said. “You are pretty and have a nice figure!”

She asked more about what had happened. Although the officer had already told me not to talk, how could I not? I told her everything my husband had done to me, and how he kept calling the flight attendant until I was arrested.

After that, she said: “I can solve that for you!”

When I asked her how, she replied: “Better for you not to know too much.”

Then I understood what she was talking about.

“Oh my God!” I said. “No… do not! Don’t even talk about it, please!”

In time, I came to understand that this was probably a setup, that the girl was a mole. They were really trying to get me for something real—not this trumped up charge of “intimidating a flight attendant.”

Even when I had arrived earlier that day, one of the officers was puzzled and said it was not a federal charge. If anything, it was “contempt of court”—a misdemeanor state charge.

“Why are they bringing you here?” he asked in a low voice, looking angry.

I prayed to get out that day. I was worried about my children. They were home when I left. They stayed with the housekeeper and did not know anything about me after that. I am everything for them.

My lawyer never showed up. He later explained that he could not find me in the system, and he was not allowed in the prison because of it. I did not even exist there! Apparently, people get lost in the system all the time.

I spent the longest night in federal prison with that girl who checked me all night to see if I was sleeping.

“Why are you here?” I asked her.

“I witnessed my brother killing someone. Since I knew about it, that is why I am here. They went to my home at 6 a.m. and took me in my underwear.”

I could not help but think that every conversation with this girl was bizarre. But probably she thought the same about me.

Finally, they came for me.

I was taken to a room, where the chains were removed. Then I was passed to another room. Every room was behind locked doors, extremely secure. Finally, I got to a hall where my lawyer was waiting for me. He explained that my release was approved with the condition that I had to turn in both passports, Venezuelan and American, by Thursday. Alejandro was to appear in court with the Venezuelan passport. And my family lawyers were to appear, too, with evidence that the Venezuelan passport had been formally requested in the divorce proceedings.

My attorney walked me to an office, where my daughter Alexandra was waiting, along with one of my family lawyers. I ran and hugged her. I cried because I thought I was never going to be able to hug her again. I am thinking while hugging her: “My baby has to be a responsible adult now at only 17 years old, for her and for her siblings. This is so wrong. Why? Why? Why do my children have to be going through this experience?”

My family lawyer tells Alexandra to make sure her father does not go home, because I am going there. She texted him, “ Mami is out.” He answered, “I know.” She showed the text to me and I could not believe it. How does he know?

He is in close contact with federal officials and I asked myself: “Do they know he has dual identity in Venezuela? Do they know about his patient that died in unusual circumstances?”

At that moment, I was informed that Alejandro was planning to move into the house. I refiled for divorce a month after the airplane incident, and divorce proceedings started officially over a month ago.

The court had granted me a “kick-out order,” meaning he had to leave the house, and a protective restraining order whereby he had to stay away from me after the last beating he gave me put him in jail. I had been living at the house with the children and the housekeeper ever since.

Alexandra told me that Alejandro went to the house once the FBI took me away. He was there in less than 15 minutes. It is obvious he knew I was going to be arrested. (He works 40 minutes away from the house.) It was a Monday around noon, and he was with his younger brother. They obviously did not work that day.

When I got back home, I hugged my other two children. I cannot cry. They cannot see me weak—I am their strength. Kamee knew where I had been, but not JD. My computer tech was at the house at the time of the arrest and he went up to JD’s computer to entertain him.

I went to my bedroom and took a shower. I felt filthy. Once in the shower, I started to cry: “Daddy, come help me please,” I cried out, screaming. I started to sing “ Muñequita linda ” (beautiful doll), just like he used to sing to me. I felt so lonely and lost. And I have three children who depend on me. Their father is an alcoholic and drug addict who is “dating” prostitutes. He cannot take care of the kids. He was never able to even take care of himself. I prayed: “God, please do not let them lose me.”

After the shower, we all sat down to have dinner. I could not eat. My daughters tried to make me. “ Mami , eat please. You look like you lost ten pounds.” In fact, I had. I can lose weight when stressed out or sick so fast.

“I will gain it back,” I replied.

Alejandro had taken my Blackberry and more documents. The housekeeper told me he was looking for my American passport. If I did not have the passports to turn in, I would never have been freed because he said I was a flight risk. He was also looking for my jewelry. He wanted to leave me with nothing, without any means of support. However, after he finished looking, he left, leaving the children with the housekeeper. He did not care to take them with him. And now I have to pay for a lawyer to defend me.

When I finished dinner, I went to my closet to try to figure out where my American passport was since it was not where I kept all the passports. My daughters had already taken the rest of them in. I searched my two-story closet but could not find it. I was getting desperate. I still had tomorrow, but was not going to sleep well if I did not find it now. I decided to look inside every handbag, when it occurred to me that the handbag I used the day of the flight to Colombia was the pinkish Prada. There it was along with my passport! Thank God! Thank you, Jesus. Thank you. I kissed it.

I wonder what Alejandro would think if he knew he was so close but could not find it.

That night I slept with my son, the youngest of my children. I hugged him hard. Ever since his father left, JD moved into my bedroom. Once he was sleeping, I started to cry. I was in my bed, in my house. I never wanted to ever again sleep in that place. But a thought came to me: “My God! I could end up there for years!”

I cried harder and suddenly started to call for my mom. I needed my mother.

Is there ever a moment in life when you stop needing your mother? I thanked God I still had her. My father has been gone since 1999. At that moment I decided to bring her over to stay with us.

The next day I rested. I was exhausted. My lawyers called to make sure I had the American passport for Thursday. My brother also needed to go there to sign as a responsible person for me.

I spoke with my family lawyers and informed them of what Alejandro had taken from the house. They told me that Alejandro now wanted the children and the right to live in the house. My lawyers wrote a letter requesting everything and advising his lawyers that Alejandro was not to be at the house ever again. However, he never respected court orders. He acted like he was above the law and maybe he was because no one ever punished him.