Chapter 2 - THE PAPERWORK OF DECEITThe morning sun over the Irapuato suburb was warm, but inside the newly renovated two-story house, the atmosphere was suffocating. Ofelia was hovering over the dining table, serving fresh orange juice and sweet bread with a fake warmth Andrés hadn't seen in four years. Brenda sat opposite him, endlessly scrolling through her phone, already shopping online for luxury clothing.
"So, son," Ofelia began, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness as she set a plate down. "This company payout... 4.8 million pesos is a massive sum. How exactly does the process work? You mentioned needing proof of local assets?"
Andrés took a slow sip of his coffee, keeping his expression entirely neutral. Across the courtyard, he could see Marisol silently sweeping the patio, her body frail under her oversized sweater. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to tear the house apart, but he forced his pulse to slow.
"It’s standard international corporate compliance, Ma," Andrés said, leaning forward and lowering his voice as if sharing a sensitive secret. "Because I worked in Canada under a specific tax status, the legal department in Edmonton needs to verify that I am returning permanently to Mexico. They require proof that I have active real estate titles and joint bank accounts in my name here. If the paper trail shows I have no registered property or financial ties, the 4.8 million gets flagged for anti-money laundering checks. It could be held up in Canadian federal court for years."
Brenda’s head snapped up from her phone screen. Her eyes widened. "Years? No way! We can’t wait years!"
"Calm down, Brenda," Ofelia scolded her daughter, though her own hands were visibly trembling. She looked back at Andrés. "Son... you know the house is currently under Brenda's name just as a temporary measure while you were away. And the main bank account is under my name. We did it to protect your money from taxes!"
"I know, Ma, and I appreciate that," Andrés lied seamlessly. "But the Canadian legal team won't accept a verbal agreement. By Monday, we need to go to the notary public. We need to transfer the deed of this house back into my name—or at least add me as the primary owner—and transfer the funds into a joint account where my name is listed first. Once the lawyers see the official Mexican notary seals, they’ll sign off on the wire transfer."
"How long after the notary signs will the money hit the account?" Brenda asked greedily, leaning over the table.
"Three business days," Andrés replied without blinking. "4.8 million pesos, straight into the account."
Ofelia looked at Brenda, a silent message passing between them. Greed had completely blinded them to the absurdity of the request. They weren't seeing their son or brother; they were seeing a goldmine.
"We’ll go to Notary Office Number 12 on Monday morning," Ofelia declared firmly. "We’ll fix the paperwork right away."
"Perfect," Andrés said, standing up. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to take Marisol to the local clinic. She looks terrible, and I don't want neighbors thinking we neglect people in this family."
Brenda scoffed, rolling her eyes. "She’s just dramatic, Andrés. But fine, take her out of our sight."
Ten minutes later, Andrés helped Marisol into a hired taxi, far away from his mother’s driveway. As soon as the car turned the corner, Marisol burst into tears, her slender shoulders shaking violently.
"Andrés... what are you doing?" she sobbed, holding her chest where the surgical scar burned beneath her clothes. "There is no 4.8 million pesos, is there? If they find out you lied to them, they will destroy us! Your mother has connections with local thugs... she used them to intimidate me when I tried to leave!"
Andrés reached over, wrapping his strong arm around her, drawing her close against his chest. His eyes turned ice-cold as he looked out the window.
"Let them try, Marisol," he whispered, his voice laced with a lethal calmness. "There is no severance package. But by the time they realize it, every single peso they stole from us, every brick of that house, and every bit of freedom they took from you will be returned. I spent four years in the cold learning how things are built. Now, I'm going to show them how quickly everything can tear down."
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He pulled out his phone and dialed a contact he had saved months before returning to Mexico—a high-profile criminal defense attorney and forensic accountant based in León.
"Licenciado Ramos?" Andrés said into the receiver. "It's Andrés Salgado. The fish took the bait. Prepare the legal traps for Monday morning."
