Chapter 4 - THE RAT IN THE BASEMENTA House Divided"Who else has access to the master financial server?" I demanded, leaning over the console and grabbing Arturo by the lapels of his uniform jacket. "Think, Arturo! Who else knew about the offshore accounts?"
Arturo struggled to breathe, his eyes wide with panic as he stared at the monitor. "No one! Only Don Roberto, Victoria, and... and..."
"And who?"
"Valeria," Arturo choked out. "Their eldest daughter. The corporate lawyer."
I released my grip on Arturo, stepping back as the pieces of the puzzle violently clicked into place. Valeria De la Vega—the ice-cold corporate litigator who lived in New York and rarely visited Monterrey unless there was a multi-million-peso inheritance at stake. She hadn't been visiting her parents out of familial love; she was positioning herself to execute a hostile corporate takeover of the entire family estate while her parents were distracted by social status and petty domestic cruelty.
"She's setting them up," I muttered, watching the federal investigator on the monitor ring the heavy brass intercom at the East Gate. "She wants her parents declared legally incompetent, freezing their assets and transferring full control of the conglomerate to her name before the environmental scandal breaks."
"If the Feds raid the mansion tonight," Arturo stammered, wiping sweat from his forehead, "Victoria and Roberto will burn us all to cover their tracks. They have a designated safe room in the basement with burner passports, millions in physical cash, and instructions to eliminate anyone who knows too much."
I looked down at the hard drive in my hand, then back at the manila folder containing the absolute proof of my wife's murder and the poisoning of San Pedro's water supply.
"They're not going to make it to the safe room," I said quietly.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my burner phone. I dialed a pre-programmed number—not the police, and not the federal investigator at the gate.
I called the city's most aggressive investigative journalist, a man who had spent a decade trying to expose the untouchable cartels and corporate elites of Nuevo León.
"Mateo?" a gruff, exhausted voice answered on the second ring. "It's 1:00 AM. Who is this?"
"Check your secure email, Mateo," I said, using my own name with a bitter pride. "I just sent you the blueprint of the De la Vega mansion, the complete financial records of their industrial dumping, and the internal security logs of a homicide covered up three years ago."
"What are you talking about? Who is this?"
"My name is Mateo Hernandez," I said, my voice echoing off the concrete walls of the security bunker. "And if you want the biggest front-page headline in the history of Monterrey, get your cameras to the gates of the De la Vega estate right now. The empire is falling."
I hung up the phone before he could reply.
On the security monitor, the heavy iron gates of the mansion buzzed open. The federal investigator’s black SUV rolled slowly down the cobblestone driveway, heading straight for the grand entrance of the main house.
"Arturo," I said, turning to the trembling ex-cop. "Unlock the service elevator that leads directly to Doña Victoria’s private chambers."
"Mateo, what are you going to do?" Arturo whispered in horror.
May you like
I pulled a pair of heavy leather gloves over my hands, my eyes fixed on the ceiling above us.
"I'm going to open the door for her," I said. "And I'm going to let her see who I am."
