Chapter 4 - Shadow of the SyndicateThe front door trembled under the force of the repeated knocks.
Óscar stood paralyzed in the garage, his breath hitching in his throat. His prized car was stripped, his wife was looking at him with absolute contempt, and now the police were at his front step.
"Teresa... what did you do?" Óscar whispered, staring at his mother in absolute horror. "WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
"Óscar, please, you have to help me!" Teresa cried, grabbing her son’s arm with frantic desperation. "I didn't mean for any of this to happen! Your uncle Hector... he used my name! He said it was just for tax shelters!"
Mariana paid no attention to their panic. She walked past them, out of the garage, and straight down the hallway toward the front door.
"Mariana, don't open that door!" Óscar shouted, sprinting after her. "Are you insane?! Don't open it!"
Ignoring him, Mariana unlocked the heavy deadbolt and pulled the front door wide open.
Standing on the porch were three men. But they weren't wearing police uniforms.
The man in the center wore a tailored dark navy suit. He had a scarred jawline and dark, calculating eyes that swept across the hallway, instantly locking onto Teresa, who was peeking nervously from behind Óscar’s shoulder.
"Good evening," the man in the suit said, his voice deep and deceptively polite. "My name is Commander Mateo Silva. But I think your mother-in-law knows me better as the man who has been tracking her brother's accounts."
Óscar stepped in front of Mariana, trying to assert control despite his trembling legs. "Look, mister... whoever you are, you can't just barge into my home. If you're with the police, show me a warrant!"
Mateo Silva smiled thin, cruel smile. He slowly unbuttoned his jacket, revealing a silver badge pinned to his belt—along with the holstered grip of a high-caliber firearm.
"I don't need a warrant to ask questions about seventy-four thousand pesos that went missing from an escrow account belonging to the Jalisco Regional Cartel's front operations, young man," Mateo said softly.
The air left Óscar’s lungs. He stumbled back a step. "The... the cartel?"
Teresa collapsed against the wall, sliding down to the floor in tears. "I didn't know! Hector told me it was clean money!"
"Hector is currently in an interrogation room down at the federal headquarters," Mateo said, stepping into the house uninvited. Two heavily armed agents stood guard outside the threshold. "And he swears that the money stolen from the account was handed directly to his sister, Teresa, to buy luxury assets."
Mateo’s eyes turned to Óscar. "And lo and behold... I find a brand-new set of custom rims sitting in a auto detailer's shop down the street, sold just an hour ago by a woman matching your wife's description."
Mateo looked at Mariana. His eyes narrowed with intense interest.
"You," Mateo said, pointing a gloved finger at Mariana. "You're the wife who sold the tires."
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Mariana didn't back down. She stood her ground, meeting the officer's cold gaze. "I am. I sold them because my husband refused to give me money for food, while using stolen funds to deck out his car."
Mateo chuckled, a sound devoid of warmth. "Well, isn't this a fascinating little domestic dispute? But here's the reality of your situation, Mrs. Mariana. That 74,000 pesos wasn't just state evidence. It belonged to dangerous people. People who want their money back. And right now... all three of you are on the hook."
