Chapter 7 - THE FINAL VISITATIONThe visiting room at the Almoloya de Juárez maximum-security prison smelled of stale disinfectant, cheap bleach, and stagnant despair.
Víctor Salgado sat on the other side of the thick, scratched Plexiglas partition. He had lost twenty pounds in three weeks; his cheeks were sunken, his hair was greasy and unwashed, and the expensive Tom Ford suit had been replaced by an orange jumpsuit stamped with inmate numbers across the chest.
He picked up the heavy plastic telephone receiver with shaking hands, pressing it against his ear.
The door on the opposite side of the barrier clicked open.
Elena walked in.
She was dressed in a simple, elegant dark trench coat, her hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. She didn't look like a victim anymore. She looked like an empress visiting a peasant in the dirt.
She sat down slowly on the metal stool, picked up her receiver, and placed it against her ear.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. They simply stared at each other through the thick plastic barrier that separated two entirely different worlds.
"You... you look well," Víctor croaked out, his voice cracked and pathetic, sounding like a dying man rattling inside a tin can. "The baby... is he..."
"Julián is healthy, strong, and growing every single day," Elena interrupted smoothly, her voice completely devoid of emotion. "He has his grandfather's eyes. And he will never, ever know a man named Víctor Salgado."
Víctor’s face twisted in agony. A wet, desperate sob broke from his throat as he pressed his forehead against the cold plastic glass.
"Elena... please," he wept, tears smearing down his gaunt cheeks. "I'm rotting in here. They put me in solitary confinement for three days. The inmates... they know what I did. They treat me like an animal. Please... drop the charges. Give me a second chance. I’ll give you everything! Just get me out of this hell!"
Elena listened to his desperate pleading without a single muscle in her face twitching. She felt no pity. She felt no anger. She felt only the cold, beautiful clarity of closure.
"A second chance, Víctor?" Elena asked quietly, her voice barely carrying through the secure intercom system. "Did you give me a second chance when you pushed me off the ledge into a freezing snowstorm? Did you give my son a second chance when you left us to die in the dark so you could buy your freedom with nine hundred million pesos?"
Víctor opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Only a ragged, choking gasp.
"You wanted nine hundred million pesos so badly, Víctor," Elena continued, leaning forward slightly, her eyes locking onto his with a piercing, unbreakable focus. "Well, you got your wish. Grupo Atlántico liquidated your entire estate to pay off your debts. Your bank accounts are empty. Your company is gone. Your freedom is gone. And tomorrow morning, the court will officially finalize our divorce, stripping you of every last cent associated with the Montiel name."
She slowly stood up from her stool, adjusting the collar of her trench coat.
"You spent your whole life trying to push people off cliffs to climb to the top," Elena said softly. "Now, you're at the very bottom of the ravine. And nobody is coming to pull you out."
"ELENA! NO! WAIT! DON'T LEAVE ME!" Víctor screamed, slamming his fists desperately against the Plexiglas partition, his voice echoing shrilly off the concrete walls of the prison visiting hall. "ELENA! PLEASE! GOD, NO—!"
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The guards immediately stepped forward, grabbing Víctor by his shoulders and hauling him backward away from the glass, his desperate, screeching cries fading down the concrete corridor until they were completely swallowed by silence.
Elena turned around and walked out of the visiting room into the bright, warm afternoon sunlight of Toluca.
