Chapter 9 - ECHOES IN THE EMPTY ROOMSFar away from the glittering lights of the Grand Ballroom, inside a damp, dimly lit visitation room behind heavy iron security doors, Verónica Carranza sat alone on a bolted metal stool.
The concrete walls echoed with the heavy footsteps of guards patrolling the cellblock. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, her designer clothes replaced by the coarse, gray fabric of a federal prison jumpsuit.
The television mounted high on the corner wall of the cafeteria played the evening news on low volume.
On the screen, high-definition footage showed the gala in Guadalajara. The camera panned across the cheering crowd, capturing the bright smiles, the elegant ballroom, and right at the center of the stage—Javier Lozano, standing tall beside her grandfather, holding the crystal plaque of corporate leadership that had once belonged to her family.
Verónica stared at the screen, her lips trembling as hot, bitter tears welled in her eyes.
She remembered the paper napkin she had scribbled her cruel note on before leaving for Los Cabos. She remembered locking the heavy wooden door from the outside, turning the bolt with a careless laugh, believing the old man was nothing more than an inconvenient obstacle on her path to luxury.
She had wanted to lock away a dying old man so she could steal his empire.
Instead, she had locked herself out of her own legacy forever.
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The television screen cut to a commercial break. The screen went dark, reflecting her own broken, desolate reflection in the glass.
In the silence of the cellblock, the heavy iron door slammed shut down the hall, sealing her fate in the cold dark she had so carelessly created for someone else.
