Chapter 2 - The Poisoned Soil
Mateo carried his mother to her bedroom, a room that he had paid millions to decorate with the finest linens and custom-made furniture, but which now felt like a gilded prison. He sat by her bedside, feeding her a bowl of warm broth that he had prepared himself, watching her eat with a desperate, heartbreaking hunger.
"Where is Don Chente?" Mateo asked quietly, realizing the loyal old gardener was nowhere to be found.
"She fired him, Mateo," Esperanza whispered between spoonfuls of broth. "She fired him this morning, right after he called you. She found out he made the call. She threatened to call the police and accuse him of stealing her jewelry if he ever set foot on this property again."
Mateo clenched his fists so hard his nails bit into his palms. Valeria was systematically isolating his mother, removing anyone who could protect her or speak for her.
"Mama, what did you mean about the land? What did she make you sign?"
Esperanza looked toward the door, ensuring Valeria wasn’t listening at the keyhole. "Two weeks ago, she came into my room late at night. She had a man with her—a notary, she said. She told me that you were in deep financial trouble with the European contracts. She said that if I didn't sign the transfer of the Jalisco agave fields over to her name as a guarantee, the banks would seize everything and throw you in prison."
Mateo gasped. "That’s a lie! The company is more profitable than it has ever been!"
"I didn't know, son," Esperanza cried, her voice trembling. "I am just an old woman from the village. I can barely read those complicated legal terms. All I cared about was saving you. So, I signed. But the next day, when I asked her if the bank was satisfied, she laughed at me. She told me I was useless, a peasant who didn't belong in this mansion. That was when the starvation started. She told me that if I told you anything, she would use the signed papers to sell the agave fields to your biggest rival, the Ruiz Group, and ruin your company overnight."
The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place with terrifying clarity. Valeria wasn't just cruel; she was calculating a corporate coup from within his own home. The Ruiz Group had been trying to buy out Mateo’s agave supply chain for five years. Without those specific ancestral fields in Jalisco, Mateo’s premium mezcal would lose its protected designation of origin, destroying his business.
Mateo stood up, a dangerous resolve filling his chest. "I’m going to confront her. I’m going to call the police, and I’m going to have her thrown in a cell."
"No, Mateo, wait!" Esperanza pulled him back. "There is something else. The tea she gives me... it tastes bitter. Every time I drink it, my heart races, my head spins, and I feel so weak I can't even stand. She tells me it's my medicine, but... I think she is putting something in it."
Mateo’s heart skipped a beat. Poison.
He ran out of the bedroom and down the long, cavernous hallway of the mansion. He bypassed his office and went straight to Valeria's private vanity room. He began tearing through her designer bags, her jewelry boxes, and her makeup drawers.
Finally, hidden behind a false bottom of a velvet-lined jewelry case, he found it.
A small, amber glass vial with no pharmaceutical label. Inside was a clear, odorless liquid. Beside it was a folded piece of paper—a medical report.
Mateo unfolded the paper. It was a chemical analysis of Digitalis—a medication used for heart conditions, but in unregulated doses, it was a lethal, undetectable poison that caused slow, agonizing heart failure, mimicking a natural death in the elderly.
At the bottom of the report was a handwritten note in elegant cursive that he recognized instantly: Dose: 3 drops daily. Full arrest within 60 days. Symptoms look like natural age-related heart failure.
Mateo felt a wave of nausea wash over him. His elegant, beautiful wife was systematically murdering his mother to inherit her estate and sell his empire out from under him.
Suddenly, the door to the vanity room creaked open.
May you like
Mateo spun around. Valeria was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. In her hand, she held a sleek, silver revolver, pointed directly at his chest.
"You always were too curious for your own good, Mateo," she said, her voice completely devoid of the warmth she usually put on for the cameras. Her eyes were cold, dead, and victorious.
