Chapter 5 - THE MOTHER-IN-LAW'S DESCENTWhile the boardroom on the 42nd floor turned into a theater of corporate execution, another drama was unfolding in the penthouse of Polanco.
Ofelia Alcázar was not a woman accustomed to waiting for bad news. When she realized that Mauricio's phone had gone straight to voicemail and that news outlets were already broadcasting helicopters circling the Constructora Alcázar headquarters, she knew drastic measures were required.
“Paulina, get your designer handbag,” Ofelia commanded, pacing across the white Persian rug. “We are going to the Salgado family estate. If Adriana thinks she can ruin our family name over a petty domestic dispute, she has severely underestimated the Alcázar influence in high society.”
“Mother, do you really think going to their family home right now is a good idea?” Paulina asked nervously, adjusting her sunglasses indoors. “Don Esteban literally just died last night. The house will be full of mourners, lawyers, and security.”
“All the better,” Ofelia snapped, her eyes narrowing with malicious determination. “Esteban may be dead, but his widow—or his estate executors—won't dare create a public scandal while the high-society columns are watching. We will play on her sympathies. We will remind her of her 'place' in this family.”
Forty minutes later, Ofelia's chauffeured Bentley pulled through the iron gates of the grand Salgado estate in Lomas de Chapultepec.
To her surprise, there were no mourning wreaths on the gates. No crowds of grieving politicians or floral arrangements. Instead, two private security guards in black tactical suits stepped forward, blocking the driveway with absolute authority.
Ofelia rolled down her window, her face set in its usual haughty expression.
“Do you know who I am? I am Ofelia Alcázar, mother of CEO Mauricio Alcázar and primary patron of the city's cultural commission. Open these gates immediately. I am here to speak with Doña Adriana.”
The head security guard didn't even flinch. He looked at her with utter indifference.
“Doña Adriana is not receiving visitors, Señora Alcázar. Especially not from this address.”
“How dare you speak to me in that tone!” Ofelia shrieked, opening her car door and stepping out onto the pavement. “This is an outrage! My son's company is being illegally hijacked by an ungrateful, unbred little girl who spent five years cooking our meals and walking our dog! Call Mr. Cárdenas right now and tell him that Ofelia Alcázar demands an audience!”
At that exact moment, a sleek black town car pulled up behind the Bentley, blocking it in.
The back door opened, and a distinguished man in an immaculate bespoke suit stepped out. It was Mr. Cárdenas, senior executor of the Salgado estate, holding a thick leather briefcase.
Ofelia immediately pivoted, marching toward him with her hand outstretched as if expecting him to kiss her ring.
“Mr. Cárdenas! Thank goodness. You must talk some sense into Adriana. She has completely lost her mind. Freezing corporate accounts over a private marital disagreement? It's hysterical! It's illegal!”
Cárdenas stopped, adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, and looked down at Ofelia with a gaze so chillingly polite that it made her stutter to a halt.
“Señora Alcázar,” Cárdenas said smoothly, his voice carrying clearly across the quiet courtyard. “There is nothing illegal about protecting a multi-billion-peso estate from financial predators.”
“Financial predators? We are the Alcázar family!” Ofelia shrieked, losing her aristocratic composure entirely. “We made her a part of our household! We elevated her social standing!”
“With all due respect, Señora Alcázar,” Cárdenas replied, opening his briefcase and pulling out a certified legal dossier, “for the past five years, every single utility bill of your penthouse, every luxury car lease under your name, every overseas vacation, and even the salary of your personal housekeeper has been paid directly out of the discretionary expense account of Doña Adriana Salgado's personal trust.”
Ofelia froze. Her mouth opened, but no words came out.
“Furthermore,” Cárdenas continued, flipping a page, “as of 4:00 a.m. today, our legal audit has confirmed that your penthouse in Polanco is mortgaged up to 90% of its valuation—with the loan guaranteed by Constructora Alcázar. Which means...”
May you like
He offered a grim, professional smile.
“...as soon as the company liquidation is finalized this afternoon, the bank will foreclose on your residence. You have seventy-two hours to pack your personal belongings.”
