Chapter 6 - THE MEDIA STORMThe flashbulbs outside the Transportes Carranza headquarters blinded Javier as he stepped through the glass doors. Microphones were thrust into his face from every major news network in Jalisco. Reporters shouted over one another, their questions overlapping into a chaotic wall of sound.
"Señor Lozano! Is it true that the founder of Transportes Carranza faked his own medical incapacitation?"
"What is your relationship to the suspects, Rogelio and Claudia Carranza?"
"Are the rumors true about an eight-million-peso embezzlement scheme involving offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands?"
Javier raised his hand calmly. The cameras clicked furiously, capturing every line of his expression. He looked sharp in his charcoal suit, his posture straight, carrying the quiet confidence of a man who had survived the worst life could throw at him.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Javier began, his voice steady and clear, echoing through the microphones. "Transportes Carranza is not built on greed, corruption, or betrayal. It is built on the sweat and sacrifice of honest men and women who have dedicated their lives to keeping this country moving."
He paused, letting the silence settle over the pack of journalists.
"As of today, the individuals responsible for attempting to siphon millions from our employee pension funds and corporate accounts have been handed over to federal authorities. The assets illegally stripped from this company have been fully accounted for and returned to their rightful place."
From the edge of the crowd, a disheveled figure stumbled forward.
It was Verónica.
She had managed to slip past the outer perimeter security, her hair tangled, her designer sunglasses missing, her face pale with desperation. She pushed through the wall of reporters, lunging toward Javier with her hands outstretched.
"Javier! Please! Look at me!" she screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "We’ve been married for six years! You can't do this to me! They lied to me—my parents forced me into it, Sebastián tricked me! Please, Javier, talk to me!"
The camera flashes instantly shifted from Javier to Verónica, capturing her complete and utter breakdown in real-time.
Javier looked down at her. There was no anger left in his chest. There was no satisfaction, either—just a profound, hollow pity for someone who had traded her soul for a mirage of luxury.
He didn't pull away when she tried to grab his sleeve; he simply stepped back, letting her hands grasp empty air.
"Verónica," Javier said softly, his microphone picking up every word for the national audience watching live across Mexico. "You told me once that your grandfather wasn't really here anymore because he couldn't speak."
Verónica froze, her breath catching in her throat.
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"You were wrong," Javier continued, his voice ringing with absolute finality. "He was listening the entire time. And so was I."
Federal marshals stepped forward, gently but firmly placing a pair of silver handcuffs around Verónica’s wrists and guiding her away from the cameras as she collapsed onto the concrete, sobbing uncontrollably.
