Chapter 3 - The Secret in the TrunkÓscar slammed the garage door open, the harsh fluorescent lights flicking on with a buzzing hum.
His prized possession—a restored 1998 black Honda Civic sedan—sat in the center of the concrete floor. But it didn't look right.
The car was sitting flat on the ground, propped up by cheap wooden blocks.
The brand-new 74,000-peso custom rims and low-profile tires were completely gone.
"NO! NO, NO, NO!" Óscar screamed, falling to his knees beside the bare wheel wells. "MY TIRES! MY RIMS!"
Mariana walked into the garage with slow, deliberate steps, her arms crossed over her chest. Teresa hurried behind her, clutching her chest in horror.
"What did you do?!" Óscar shrieked, charging toward Mariana with his fists clenched. "WHERE ARE MY RIMS?!"
"I sold them," Mariana said smoothly, not flinching an inch as he towered over her. "A local mechanic down the street was more than happy to take them off my hands for a quick cash discount. I used a small portion of that money to buy high-grade ribeye beef for your dinner tonight. And as for the rest of the money..."
She held up her phone, displaying a bank confirmation screen.
"...I deposited it straight into my personal account to reimburse myself for the six years I paid for your clothes, your food, and your rent while you pretended to be a provider."
"You thief! That's grand theft! I’m calling the police!" Óscar pulled out his phone, his hands shaking violently with rage.
"Go ahead. Call them," Mariana dared him, stepping closer. "Tell the police that your wife sold car parts that were bought with money transferred from your mother. But while they’re here, maybe they’d like to know why your mother transferred 74,000 pesos from an account registered under a fake shell company in Michoacán."
Teresa gasped sharply, her hands flying to her mouth. "Mariana... shut your mouth!"
Óscar stopped dialing. He looked at his mother, confusion warring with his anger. "What is she talking about, Ma? What shell company?"
Mariana’s laugh was cold and taunting. "Did you really think I just looked at the receipt, Óscar? When I saw your mother's name on that bank transfer, I got curious. My friend at the library works with public property and tax records. I looked up the transaction ID printed on that receipt."
She stepped right up to Teresa, looking down into the older woman's panicked eyes.
"Teresa doesn't have 74,000 pesos in savings from her late husband's pension. That money was transferred from an account named Inversiones Cárdenas S.A.—an entity currently under federal investigation for real estate fraud and money laundering in Guadalajara."
Óscar felt the world spinning beneath his feet. "Mother... what is she saying?"
Teresa’s composure shattered completely. She sank onto the hood of the jacked-up sedan, her face pale as a ghost.
"She... she doesn't know what she's talking about," Teresa sobbed, though her voice lacked conviction.
"Don't lie to him, Teresa," Mariana spat. "Tell him the truth. Tell your precious son where that 74,000 pesos really came from, and why the police were asking questions at your old apartment building three days ago!"
Before Teresa could respond, a sharp, loud knock echoed from the front door of the house.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
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The heavy thuds reverberated through the hallway, sending a shudder through all three of them.
"Federal Police! Open the door!" a loud, authoritative voice boomed from the street.
