Chapter 8 - THE TRAP CLOSES PERMANENTLYSix months later.
The maximum-security female prison in Guanajuato was cold, grey, and miserable.
Ofelia sat in the crowded cafeteria, wearing a faded orange uniform. Her manicured nails were long gone—now short, cracked, and dirty from working 8-hour daily shifts in the prison laundry room. Her golden necklaces were replaced by a plastic ID badge.
Across the room, Brenda was scrubbing the greasy mess hall floors with a stiff brush, her hands raw and blistered, crying quietly as a prison guard shouted at her to move faster.
A loud buzzer echoed through the hall.
"Ofelia Salgado! Visitor!" a guard shouted, tapping a heavy wooden baton against the iron bars.
Ofelia’s heart leaped with sudden hope. Andrés! She thought frantically. He finally came! He forgave me! He's coming to get me out!
She scrambled to her feet and rushed down the concrete corridor to the visitation room. She sat down behind the thick plexiglass window, grabbing the phone receiver with trembling hands.
The door on the visitor's side opened.
It wasn't Andrés.
It was a sharp-looking man in an expensive dark suit carrying a leather briefcase—a corporate attorney representing a major construction enterprise.
Ofelia’s face fell, mixed with confusion. "Who are you? Where is my son?"
The attorney sat down, unmoving, and picked up his receiver. "Doña Ofelia. I am Attorney Vega, representing Salgado Logistics & Automotive Solutions."
"Salgado Logistics?" Ofelia repeated blankly.
"Yes," the lawyer said smoothly. "I am here on behalf of the Chief Executive Officer, Mr. Andrés Salgado, and his Chief Financial Officer, Mrs. Marisol Gomez Salgado."
Ofelia felt a violent spike of rage and jealousy in her chest. "They... they built a company?!"
"Indeed," Attorney Vega replied calmly. "Using the 14.5 million pesos payout from the state government for the highway land, Mr. Salgado built the largest automated commercial repair facility and logistics hub in the state of Guanajuato. They currently employ over eighty local workers, including full medical benefits."
"Tell him to give me my share!" Ofelia screamed into the phone, slamming her fist against the glass. "That land belonged to my father! I am his mother! He is living like a king while I eat rot in here!"
Attorney Vega didn't even flinch. He slowly pulled a legal document out of his briefcase and pressed it against the glass window for her to read.
"Actually, Doña Ofelia, I am here to deliver a message from Mr. Salgado, along with this official court order."
Ofelia squinted through her tears at the paper.
"What is that?" she rasped.
"It is a permanent civil restitution order," Vega explained coldly. "Because you were convicted of grand embezzlement and attempted murder against his wife, the court has ordered that 100% of your small monthly prison labor wage—the 40 pesos a day you earn washing prison sheets—will be automatically garnished and deposited directly into a medical trust fund established for low-income cancer patients in Irapuato. A trust fund managed personally by Mrs. Marisol Salgado."
Ofelia gasped, her face twisting in pure agony. "No... no! You can't take my prison earnings! I need that money for soap! For food!"
"You will receive basic rations provided by the state, Doña Ofelia," Attorney Vega said, collecting his briefcase and standing up. "Mr. Salgado also asked me to pass along one final message to you and Brenda."
Ofelia clung to the phone, tears streaming down her hollow cheeks. "What... what did he say?"
Attorney Vega looked at her with cold indifference.
"He said: 'You spent four years making my wife wash dishes in dirty water while you lived off my blood. Now, you will spend the next thirty-eight years washing prison sheets to pay for the lives of women you tried to destroy. Do not write. Do not call. You no longer have a son.'"
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Vega hung up the receiver, turned on his heel, and walked out of the room, the heavy iron security door slamming shut behind him with a deafening CLANG.
Ofelia dropped the phone. She beat her fists wildly against the bulletproof glass, screaming her son's name into the empty air, but no one was listening.
