Chapter 2 - The Polanco Eviction and the Paper EmpireTwelve hours later. Polanco, Mexico City’s most exclusive neighborhood.
Beatriz and Ximena had been forced to take a filthy, rattling intercity bus back to the capital after maxing out Ximena’s minor personal debit card just to afford the fare. Their designer clothes were wrinkled, their hair was matted, and their feet ached terribly from dragging four heavy suitcases through dusty bus terminals.
"When we get to the penthouse, I’m taking a three-hour hot bath and ordering catering," Beatriz grumbled, her pride still attempting to stitch itself back together. "Valeria is bluffing. She wouldn't dare kick us out of our home. Mauricio would divorce her instantly."
"Yeah... totally," Ximena mumbled, though her eyes were glued to her phone. Her comment section was already filling up with questions: @XimenaSalgado why did you delete your Valle de Bravo stories? Are you really at a bus station right now? Someone posted a photo of you!
They stepped out of a yellow street taxi in front of their glass-and-steel high-rise apartment building. Beatriz held her head high, putting on her arrogant mask as she marched toward the lobby doors.
"Good morning, Roberto," Beatriz said haughtily to the head concierge. "Send the porter down to grab our luggage immediately. And call up to our floor—tell the maid to prepare coffee."
Roberto, a man who had tolerated Beatriz’s verbal abuse and ridiculous demands for four straight years, didn't move an inch. He slowly placed a stack of official legal documents on the marble counter.
"I’m sorry, Señora Salgado," Roberto said, his tone razor-sharp with polite satisfaction. "You no longer have access to Penthouse 4B."
Beatriz froze. "What did you just say to me?"
"At 6:00 AM this morning, legal representatives from Ortega Global Logistics presented a certified court order and lease termination notice," Roberto explained, pointing to the paperwork. "The apartment was leased exclusively by Ortega Global. Since you are not an employee or an authorized tenant, the locks have been changed. Your personal belongings have been packed into standard storage boxes and are currently sitting in the basement parking lot."
"WHAT?!" Ximena screamed. "MY DESIGNER CLOTHES! MY SHOES! YOU CAN'T PUT MY GUCCI IN STORAGE BOXES!"
"This is illegal! I will sue this building! I will sue Valeria! I will have you thrown in prison!" Beatriz shrieked, slamming her fists on the marble desk.
"If you raise your voice again, Señora," Roberto replied smoothly, reaching for his desk phone, "I will call municipal security to have you removed for public disturbance. You have two hours to clear your storage boxes out of the parking garage before they are donated to a local homeless shelter."
Beatriz felt the room spin. The floor beneath her feet—a floor she believed she owned by right of her superior bloodline—was vanishing into thin air.
Driven by pure madness, she grabbed Ximena’s arm and dragged her down the concrete ramp into the dark, subterranean parking garage.
There, sitting on the cold concrete floor next to an oil stain, were twenty cardboard boxes marked with black Sharpie markers. Nearby, a flatbed tow truck was already backing into the parking space where Beatriz’s white Mercedes-Benz C-Class usually sat.
"Stop! Stop right there!" Beatriz yelled at the tow truck driver. "That’s my car!"
A young woman in a tailored dark blue business suit stepped out from behind the tow truck. It was Sofia, Valeria’s executive legal assistant.
"Señora Salgado," Sofia said coolly, holding a clipboard. "This vehicle is registered under Ortega Global Logistics as a company asset. You were granted temporary use under a corporate benefit scheme that has been revoked effective immediately."
"Where is Mauricio?!" Beatriz wept, her composure completely shattering as she grabbed Sofia’s lapels. "Where is my son?! Tell him his mother is on her knees! Tell him to come stop this madness!"
Sofia unclasped Beatriz’s hands with icy efficiency.
"Mr. Mauricio Salgado is currently in Cancún with his wife and her parents," Sofia said flatly. "And on his explicit instruction, he handed us his personal corporate authority to execute these asset retrievals. He also left a message for you."
Sofia pulled a small, sealed envelope from her pocket and handed it to Beatriz.
Beatriz tore it open with shaking fingers. Inside was a single piece of paper with Mauricio’s handwriting:
Mom,
For ten years, I let you believe I was the one building an empire. I let you parade around Mexico City acting like royalty because I was too weak, too ashamed, and too cowardly to admit the truth: I am just an employee in Valeria’s world. She built everything. She paid for everything. And you repaid her by crushing her spirit and insulting the people who gave up everything so she could succeed.
I am done covering for your lies. I am done funding your cruelty.
You spent years talking about 'social classes.' Now, you get to live in yours.
Don't call me.
May you like
Beatriz’s hands sank to her sides. The letter fluttered to the grease-stained garage floor.
Beside her, Ximena sank to her knees among the cardboard boxes, sobbing uncontrollably as the tow truck hooked up the Mercedes and pulled it out into the bright daylight above.
