Chapter 2 - The Freeze
Upstairs in the grand ballroom of the Reforma Palace Hotel, the string quartet played a melancholic Vivaldi piece while three hundred of Mexico’s corporate elite sipped Moët & Chandon. Giant LED screens flashed the corporate mantra: Grupo Salgado: Family, Vision, and the Future.
Adrián burst into the hall ten minutes later, his face pale, sweat beading on his forehead. He ignored Mariana’s complaints and bypassed the main head table to find his chief financial officer, Rogelio Garza—no relation to Valeria, a man Adrián had handpicked for his loyalty and lack of ambition.
“Rogelio,” Adrián hissed, grabbing the CFO’s arm so hard the champagne flute shook in the man's hand. “My phone. It’s been buzzing nonstop. What’s happening with the bridge credit from Banco de Monterrey?”
Rogelio stared at his tablet, his eyes wide behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Boss... I don’t know. I don’t understand it. Five minutes ago, the wire transfer for the Monterrey logistics park cleared. Suddenly, the credit line has been locked. Not just frozen—revoked. Every single account we hold with the Garza Group banks has been flagged under an emergency compliance hold.”
Adrián’s breath hitched. “The Garza Group? That’s impossible. They don’t even know who we are beyond minor regional partners. I deal with regional managers!”
Before Rogelio could answer, the massive double doors of the ballroom banged open. Security guards didn’t enter—instead, four men in identical charcoal suits walked in with the unhurried, terrifying precision of federal agents. At their head was Sebastián Mendoza Garza, his tall frame cutting through the crowd like a razor. He wore no tie, his sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, and his expression was a mask of cold, lethal fury.
The room’s chatter died instantly. The string quartet ground to a confused, screeching halt.
Sebastián didn’t look at the crowd. His dark, piercing eyes locked directly onto Adrián, who stood frozen near the stage.
“Adrián Salgado,” Sebastián’s voice boomed through the ballroom’s sound system without him even touching a microphone. “You have exactly three minutes to take off your tuxedo, hand over your corporate seal, and walk out of this hotel. Grupo Salgado is no longer a going concern.”
Adrián forced a desperate, trembling laugh, stepping forward as the crowd watched in stunned silence. “Sebastián! My brother-in-law! What is this joke? Is this a prank for the gala? Look, Valeria is upset, she misunderstood some things, but let’s not—guard! Remove these men!”
None of the security guards moved. They all knew who the Garza family was.
Sebastián stopped two feet away from Adrián, pulled a thick manila folder from his jacket, and dropped it onto the VIP podium.
“My sister spent seven years protecting you from your own staggering incompetence,” Sebastián said softly, loud enough for the first five rows to hear every syllable. “Every patent you filed, every government contract you won, every bailout that saved you from bankruptcy in 2022—it was underwritten by the Mendoza family trust. And as of 9:14 PM tonight, we are calling in every single note.”
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Adrián’s knees buckled. He reached for the podium, his fingers clawing at the wood. “No... you can’t. The government contracts, the expansion into Guadalajara... everything is signed!”
“Signed with our collateral,” Sebastián corrected, turning his back on him. “You’re bankrupt, Salgado. And by midnight, the tax authorities will receive an audit of your offshore accounts that will ensure your next home has iron bars on the windows.”
