Chapter 3 - The Eviction Notice at MidnightIt was 11:45 PM when the pounding on the door of the Guadalajara house shook Mariana awake.
She sat up abruptly in the master bed—the same bed where her parents had slept for decades. Sergio was snoring softly beside her, dead to the world after his post-celebration bender.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
—Open up! Federal police and court bailiffs! Open the door immediately!
Mariana’s heart slammed against her ribs. She threw on a silk robe, her bare feet padding frantically across the cold tile floor. She unlocked the heavy black deadbolt—the very same one Sergio had installed just days ago—and pulled the door open.
Standing on the porch were two men in sharp charcoal suits, flanked by local police officers holding official clipboards.
—Are you Mariana Cárdenas? —asked the taller man, flashing a shiny metal badge.
—Y-yes. I am. What is the meaning of this? This is private property! We bought this house legally!
The man stepped past her without invitation, signaling the officers to follow.
—Not quite, señora —the agent replied smoothly, pulling a thick stack of court-stamped paperwork from his briefcase—. You didn't buy a house. You committed a federal fraud transaction involving a forged power of attorney and an invalid beneficiary title.
Sergio stumbled into the hallway, rubbing his eyes, wearing only his boxers and a look of absolute panic.
—What the hell is going on here?! Who are you people?!
—My name is Inspector Ramos, Federal Financial Crimes Unit —the agent said, turning his piercing gaze onto Sergio—. And you are Sergio Morales, correct? You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit real estate fraud, embezzlement of senior assets, and identity falsification.
The world seemed to tilt sideways for Mariana.
—Fraud?! That’s insane! We have the sales contract! My mother signed her rights away years ago! My husband handled the registry!
Inspector Ramos let out a dry, chilling laugh.
May you like
—Señora, your mother didn't sign anything. In fact, according to the national registry and a very special federal injunction filed by the late Roberto Cárdenas eight years ago, that house was never legally yours to sell. Furthermore... the person who bought it from you isn't who you think it is.
As if on cue, a sleek black Mercedes pulled up to the curb. The rear door opened, and Mateo Silva stepped out, adjusting his cuffs, walking toward the blue door with the stride of an absolute king.
