Finally, the call came, and I prepared to meet my new client. Ushered into a stark white room divided by glass with a chair on each side, I sat down. I watched Guzmán – known to the world as El Chapo – approach me. Dressed in orange with chains on his wrists and ankles, Guzmán sat across the glass. He placed his hand against the divider as a greeting.
NEW YORK CITY, United States — While awaiting the results of the bar exam, I hunted for a job as a paralegal. Scrolling through Indeed and Craigslist, an ad caught my eye. A prominent criminal law firm sought a Spanish-speaking paralegal to assist a federal prison client in New York. Although the ad lacked detail, I applied and at the interview I discovered the client’s name: Joaquín Archivaldo Guzmán Loera, better known as El Chapo.
Back home, I Googled his name. The results left me stunned. I had interviewed for a job whose client was an internationally infamous leader of the Sinaloa Cartel in Mexico. While initially I felt shocked, it soon turned into excitement. I saw it as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, a case lawyers dreamed of handling, and I hadn’t even received the results of my bar exam yet. Without hesitating, I confirmed my interest in the job.
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In college, I searched for a branch of law I could connect with and stumbled upon criminal law. It absolutely captivated me. Criminal law felt like an artform. It was all about storytelling. You have one fact and two points of view. Whoever tells the story best convinces the judge and jury. The role of defense attorney intrigued me.
From a young age, I tended to take the side of the accused, the one everyone else turned against. Supporting that person felt just and meaningful, and it became my guiding light. I graduated from law school in December 2017 and took the Bar Exam two months later. While awaiting the results, I accepted the job to serve on Joaquín Guzmán’s legal team, and I felt ready for the challenge. Confidence surged through me, and I approached the opportunity unintimidated – much like the first time I performed on stage.
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Growing up, music played a big role in my family. My father worked as a music director and drummer, playing with some of Puerto Rico’s most celebrated artists like Lucecita Benítez, Chucho Avellanet, and Menudo. At eight years old, I attended a Grupo Manía event. Standing in the audience next to my mom while my dad played on stage, I sang along and danced. Drawing the attention of a band member, he called me on stage.
On that sweltering afternoon, I looked out at the 2,000 concertgoers. Feeling no nerves and no fear, I owned the moment. My new job felt the same. When I shared the news with my mother, her excitement matched my own. No one in my family or circle of friends questioned my decision. They understood the role of a criminal defense lawyer and respected my choice.
Before going to law school, all I wanted was to pursue music. Then, my parents sat me down and told me to take up something more conventional offering economic stability. I felt angry and confused, but they gave me no choice. I earned a bachelor’s degree in music business before moving to the United States to pursue law.
I intended to stay in entertainment, helping artists with contracts and negotiations. However, during an intellectual property class, I felt uninspired and disconnected from the creative world I loved so much. Criminal law brought back that spark. From the moment we began, I held no prejudice against Mr. Guzmán. To represent someone impartially, I rely on the facts, evidence, and how they treat me. Every defendant is innocent until proven guilty. The day we set out to visit Guzmán in jail, the lawyer who hired me misplaced her ID card and I had to go in alone.
While I felt prepared from my internship during law school, entering a prison is intimidating. The atmosphere felt heavy. Jail personnel assessed my every move as I passed through the metal detectors, presented my documents, and went through a general search. Because our client was a maximum-security inmate, they took me to a room and isolated me for about 20 minutes.
The confinement was oppressive, the solid walls cutting me off entirely from the outside world. Minutes felt like hours as anxiety crept in, and I bore the full weight of the situation. Finally, the call came, and I prepared to meet my new client. Ushered into a stark white room divided by glass with a chair on each side, I sat down. I watched Guzmán – known to the world as El Chapo – approach me.
Dressed in orange with chains on his wrists and ankles, Guzmán sat across the glass. He placed his hand against the divider as a greeting. Instinctively, I raised my hand to mirror his gesture. The meeting began without hesitation. Our conversation flowed naturally and despite my youth, he accepted me. From that day forward, I visited Guzmán six days a week, spending three to four hours per visit talking and preparing.
A friendly rapport formed between us. I developed an even closer bond with his wife Emma Coronel. She traveled to the U.S. to support him, and her limited English meant I often helped her. I accompanied her on errands like grocery shopping and later, when she faced prosecution, I became her lawyer as well.
After the Guzmán case, my legal career took off. I went on to handle other high-profile cases, but music remained an important part of my life. After undergoing bariatric surgery, I looked at my reflection in the mirror one day, and a spark reignited within me. I buried my dream of becoming a professional singer to pursue law. Looking at myself that day, I rediscovered my confidence. It was time to take my dream off pause.
I thought of how my father’s collection of cassettes and CDs fascinated me; how every day after finishing schoolwork, the house came alive with the sounds of merengue, salsa, and ballads on full blast. On Sundays, we cleaned up to the bustling sound of music, moving through the house to the rhythm of melodies. With a mop or rag in hand, I sang my heart out. Time flew and those joyful moments connected us as a family.
As a child, performing on stage felt like flying – the most complete and exhilarating feeling of my life. I wanted nothing more than to see the audience respond to my voice forever. With my dreams reignited, I had a difficult decision to make, but two fears held me back. I worried how others would perceive me, jeopardizing my reputation as a lawyer. I also feared future regret. One day, I thought, “I am 30 years old, with no children and no partner. If not now, when?” Excitedly, I reached out to a Puerto Rican music producer and friend.
Together, we wrote the lyrics to my first song La Abogada [The Lawyer]. Today, I make one thing very clear: I am a lawyer and a singer. Monday through Thursday, I work in my office and in court. I navigate paperwork, client meetings, and legal proceedings. Friday to Sunday I step into my other world in the recording studio. I film music videos and collaborate with producers, sound technicians, and fellow musicians.
I never expected to find passion in law, but it brings me immense fulfillment. Music serves as my creative outlet, a space where I can express myself. Both give me happiness, and I cannot imagine abandoning either. Whether I am telling a story in court or through a song, I am, at my core, an artist in both worlds.
When I became part of Joaquín “El Chapo” Guzmán’s legal team and later represented his wife, it fueled my love for tackling challenges and taking a stance opposite the majority. Alongside that passion for law, I nurture my unshakable love for music and singing. Combining my two passions I stepped into the world embracing my duality.