Chapter 2 - The Snake in the BoardroomThe phone line crackled with Diego’s mocking laughter, a sound that grated against the heavy silence of Alejandro’s home office.
“Did you hear me, brother?” Diego continued, his voice dripping with condescension. “Or are you too busy crying over your wife’s swollen ankles? Tomorrow morning at nine sharp, the Board of Directors meets. You’re going to sign over the CEO position, or we release every single document regarding the shell company in the Cayman Islands. And trust me, the federal tax authorities in Mexico City won't find it as funny as I do.”
Alejandro’s grip on the smartphone tightened so hard his knuckles turned white. The screen glowed in the dark room, illuminating his cold, hardened features. The boy who used to eat bean tacos with Mariana was gone. In his place stood a ruthless corporate executive ready to wage war.
“You think you’ve won, Diego?” Alejandro asked, his voice deathly quiet, devoid of the panic his brother expected.
“I don’t think. I know,” Diego scoffed. “Mother built that business from her savings in Linares. We have the legal leverage. See you at nine.”
The line went dead.
Alejandro didn't scream. He didn't punch the wall. Instead, a chilling calmness washed over him. He walked out of the study, quietly slipped into the master bedroom, and checked on Mariana. She was sleeping, her face pale, hooked to a portable heart monitor the private doctor had set up. Her breathing was shallow, but stable.
He kissed her forehead, whispered, "I love you, my queen. Rest easy tonight, because tomorrow, I burn their empire to the ground," and walked back downstairs.
He opened his laptop. He didn't call a lawyer. He called Mateo Garza, the fiercest, most expensive corporate forensic investigator in all of Nuevo León—a man who lived in the shadows and ate corporate blackmailers for breakfast.
“Mateo,” Alejandro said the moment the call connected. “I need you to dig up every single transaction, property title, and wire transfer linked to my mother, Ofelia Villarreal, and my brother, Diego Villarreal, over the past seven years. Spare no expense. I want a complete dossier on my desk by 8:00 AM.”
“Alejandro? It’s three in the morning,” Mateo mumbled, half-asleep.
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“Make it 7:30 AM, Mateo. Or I’ll buy your firm and fire you by lunch.”
Mateo laughed, instantly wide awake. “Say no more, boss. Consider it done.”
