Chapter 2 - THE MIDNIGHT ARREST AT THE PHANTOM VILLAMidnight in the upscale neighborhood of Polanco was usually quiet, but tonight the humid air hung heavy with impending storm clouds. Iván Morales—no relation to the detective—stood on the wrap-around balcony of a multi-million-dollar penthouse overlooking Lincoln Park. He swirled a glass of vintage Vega Sicilia Unico, his face illuminated by the glow of his smartphone.
"She should be done by now," Iván muttered, pacing across the imported Italian marble floor. "Once the old man flatlines, the lawyers will take forty-eight hours to clear probate, but the cash accounts are liquid. We wire the capital to the Cayman accounts tonight."
The heavy oak door of the penthouse unlocked. Valeria burst in, breathless, her hair slightly disheveled, high-end perfume mingling with the scent of hospital disinfectant.
"It's done," she gasped, slamming the door and locking the deadbolt as if ghosts were chasing her. "I gave him the last dose. By sunrise, his heart will have completely given out. The doctors already gave him five days; nobody will question a natural cardiac arrest."
Iván let out a triumphant bark of laughter, pulling her into a rough, passionate kiss. "We did it, Vale! No more hiding, no more pretending to tolerate that boring factory owner. We are free!"
They moved to the wet bar, popping open a bottle of Dom Pérignon, spilling golden bubbles over the rim in their haste. Valeria kicked off her shoes, her mind racing with a shopping list of luxury cars, designer bags, and private jets.
"We need to call the notary first thing in the morning," Valeria said, sipping the champagne. "Make sure the deed transfer for the factory is expedited."
Suddenly, the heavy mahogany door of the penthouse didn't just knock—it splintered.
CRASH!
Four tactical police officers in black gear flooded the room, assault rifles raised, shouting commands in sharp, authoritative Spanish.
"Down on the ground! Hands behind your back! Do not move!"
Valeria dropped her champagne flute, the crystal shattering into a thousand glittering shards across the floor. "What is this?! You have the wrong place! We didn't do anything!"
Iván raised his hands, his face turning an ash-gray color. "There's been a mistake! We are law-abiding citizens—"
Step by measured step, Detective Morales walked through the breach, flanked by two officers holding high-definition digital tablets. On the screens, the audio recording of Valeria confessing to the digoxin poisoning played back at maximum volume, echoing off the high ceilings of the luxury apartment.
May you like
"Valeria Santos," Detective Morales said coldly, pulling out a pair of steel handcuffs. "You are under arrest for the attempted premeditated murder of Ernesto Salgado, conspiracy, and financial fraud. And you, Iván... accomplice to conspiracy."
Valeria’s knees buckled. As the cold metal snapped around her wrists, she looked up in sheer horror, realizing the nightmare had only just begun.
