Chapter 8 - The Eviction Notice
Tuesday morning arrived with blinding, merciless sunlight—as if mocking the gloom that had settled over the Rivas household.
At 10:00 AM sharp, a black luxury SUV pulled up to the iron gates of the grand estate on San Ángel. Out stepped two federal court bailiffs, accompanied by a senior representative of Banco Mercantil del Valle and a locksmith carrying a heavy tool bag.
Inside the mansion, Leticia and Paulina were sitting in the grand salon surrounded by packed suitcases, crying hysterically as movers loaded their remaining luxury items into a rental van. They had spent the entire night calling every high-society friend, political ally, and distant cousin they had ever patronized, only to find that every single door had slammed shut the moment the morning newspapers broke the news of Congressman Diego Garza’s arrest for corruption.
When the front gates buzzed, Leticia rushed to the heavy oak door, throwing it open with wild, desperate hope.
“Stop!” Leticia screamed at the bailiffs. “You can’t do this! This is a historic property! We have legal rights!”
The court bailiff stepped forward, holding out a crisp, official document with a gold embossed seal.
“Mrs. Leticia Rivas, pursuant to writ of execution number 449-B issued by the Superior Court of San Ángel, this property has been legally seized by the primary lienholder and legal title owner, Mara Rivas-Vance,” the bailiff read in a booming, emotionless voice. “You have exactly thirty minutes to vacate the premises.”
“No! No, call Mara! Let me speak to her!” Leticia shrieked, grabbing the bailiff’s sleeve.
“Mrs. Vance is not receiving visitors,” the bailiff replied calmly, gently removing her hand. “And furthermore, a restraining order has been filed prohibiting you, your daughter, and your detained son-in-law from coming within five hundred meters of her or her minor child.”
May you like
Paulina collapsed onto the marble floor of the foyer, weeping into her pearl earrings as the locksmith stepped past her and inserted a master key into the front door lock, twisting it firmly to the left.
The house was no longer theirs.
