“I was left with nothing,” she roared back, the first flash of raw, unfiltered rage breaking through her icy exterior. Her eyes blazed with a terrifying intensity. “I was dying in a pool of my own blood while you were screwing a twenty-four-year-old model in a room that costs more than my mother’s medical bills! I have already looked into the abyss, Alejandro. Do you really think I care about this house?”
The Trap Snaps Shut
She stood up. She was weak, her body visibly trembling from the physical toll of her ordeal, but her posture was unyielding. She looked down at me like a judge delivering a death sentence.
“You thought you were untouchable because you have money. But money only buys silence from people who want it. I don’t want your money anymore, Alejandro. I want your ruin.”
“Mariana, please,” I begged, standing up to approach her, my hands raised in surrender. “We can fix this. I’ll sign everything over to you voluntarily. Just call off the feds. Tell them it was a mistake. Tell them it was a disgruntled employee.”
“It’s too late for that,” she said, stepping back, avoiding my touch as if I were coated in venom. “The warrants were signed yesterday morning.”
Before I could process her words, the distant, muffled sound of tires gripping the gravel driveway outside echoed through the quiet house. Then another. And another.
My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit.
I rushed to the grand bay windows of our living room and parted the heavy velvet curtains. Through the tinted glass, I watched three black, unmarked SUVs tear down the driveway, their tires tearing up the manicured lawn. They didn’t stop at the gate. They parked in a tactical formation, completely blocking my escape.
Men and women in tactical vests with bright yellow lettering emblazoned across their backs began spilling out of the vehicles.
FBI. IRS-CI.
“No, no, no,” I panicked, spinning around to face Mariana. “What did you do? What else did you give them?!”
Mariana walked calmly toward the front foyer, completely ignoring my breakdown. She reached for her trench coat hanging by the door, slipping it over her shoulders with slow, deliberate movements. She picked up a small designer suitcase that had been tucked away in the corner—she had already been packed before I even walked through the door.
“You always said that in business, timing is everything,” she said, her hand resting on the brass doorknob. “I timed my discharge from the hospital perfectly. I wanted to be here to look you in the eyes when the walls fell down.”
“Mariana, you can’t leave me here like this!” I screamed, sprinting toward her as the heavy, rhythmic thuds of federal agents marching up our front steps began to vibrate through the floorboards.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
