Chapter 3 - The Interrogation and the Secret Alliance
The interrogation room inside the State Judiciary Building was freezing. The air conditioning hummed aggressively, and the only light came from a single fluorescent fixture buzzing overhead.
Mateo had been chained to a metal chair bolted to the floor for six hours. His shoulders burned from the awkward angle of the handcuffs, and his throat felt like sandpaper.
The heavy metal door clicked open. Commander Rivas walked in, carrying a thick file folder. He didn't sit down. Instead, he tossed the folder onto the metal table. It slid open, revealing crime scene photos of a burning vehicle, a luxury estate, and a mugshot of a man Mateo didn't recognize.
"Let's make this simple," Rivas said, leaning over the table, placing his palms flat on the cold metal. "Who sold you the washing machine?"
"I told you a hundred times!" Mateo rasped, his voice cracking. "A man at the flea market! He had a small truck filled with scrap metal and old appliances. I don't know his name! He sold it to me for a thousand pesos!"
Rivas slammed his fist onto the table, the loud bang echoing like a gunshot in the small room. "Do not lie to me! That machine belonged to Carlos Garza. The billionaire industrialist who went 'missing' six months ago. The husband of Doña Lucía, the woman you so righteously visited yesterday."
Mateo blinked, trying to process the information. "The... the husband? She told me her husband gave her the ring fifty years ago. She said she lost it."
"She lied to you," Rivas said coldly. "Carlos Garza didn't disappear. He was murdered. And before he was killed, he hid the keys to his entire financial empire—and the evidence of who killed him—inside the heavy iron base of that specific washing machine. The machine was kept in a secure warehouse, but three days ago, a low-level thief stole it, not knowing what was inside, and sold it to a scrap metal dealer. Who then sold it to you."
Rivas leaned in closer, his breath smelling of stale coffee and mints. "The public thinks you're an honest citizen, Mateo. But we know better. You didn't go to San Pedro to return a ring out of the goodness of your heart. You went there to negotiate. Who are you working for? Is it the Garza cartel? Or is it the son?"
"I don't know what you're talking about!" Mateo cried, tears of sheer frustration spilling over his dusty cheeks. "I am a construction worker! I have three children who are currently alone at my house! I don't know any cartel, and I don't know any billionaires!"
"Then you are going to prison for a very long time as an accomplice to murder and organized crime," Rivas said, straightening his back. "Unless you sign a confession stating you stole the ledger on behalf of the Garza family rivals."
"I won't sign a lie," Mateo said defiantly, though his heart was pounding against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Suddenly, the heavy metal door swung open. A young officer rushed in, looking visibly shaken. He whispered something into Rivas's ear.
Rivas’s expression instantly changed from smug dominance to absolute panic. He glanced at the two-way mirror on the wall, then back at Mateo.
"What do you mean she's here?" Rivas demanded in a hushed, angry tone. "Who let her in?"
"She has federal lawyers with her, Commander," the young officer whispered back, his voice trembling. "And she's holding a press conference in the lobby right now."
Before Rivas could respond, the door was pushed open completely.
An elderly woman stepped into the room. It was Doña Lucía. But she no longer looked like the frail, weeping widow Mateo had met the day before. She wore a tailored black wool suit, her silver hair styled perfectly, and her eyes burned with an icy, authoritative fire. Behind her stood three men in expensive charcoal suits, carrying leather briefcases.
"Get your hands off him, Rivas," Lucía said, her voice commanding and steady.
"Señora Garza," Rivas said, quickly trying to regain his composure. "This is an active criminal investigation. This man is a suspect in the theft of federal evidence—"
"This man is a hero," Lucía interrupted, stepping directly between Rivas and Mateo. She placed a gentle, warm hand on Mateo’s bruised shoulder. "And if you do not unlock these handcuffs in the next ten seconds, my legal team will file a federal injunction against you, your department, and the state attorney general for illegal detention, fabrication of evidence, and police brutality."
Rivas went pale. He looked at the high-powered lawyers, then at the recording camera in the corner of the room. He knew he had been cornered.
"Unlock him," Rivas ordered the guard.
The cuffs clicked open. Mateo collapsed forward, rubbing his raw wrists, staring at Doña Lucía in utter shock.
"Come with me, Mateo," Lucía said softly, her tone shifting from razor-sharp authority to deep, motherly warmth. "Your children are safe. They are already at my estate. But we must leave. Now. Before my son realizes you are out."
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Mateo stood up, his legs shaking. "Your... your son?"
Lucía’s face darkened, a shadow of profound grief and fear crossing her elegant features. "Yes, Mateo. My son, Senator Alejandro Garza. The man who ordered your arrest. The man who killed my husband."
