Chapter 3 - Shadows in Coyoacán
The next morning, acting under Detective Fuentes’ guidance, I played the part of the grieving, overwhelmed husband. I left the house early, claiming I had to attend to emergency meetings at work, but instead, I shadowed my wife from a distance with the help of a private investigator Fuentes had recommended.
By noon, Karina made her move. Driven by the panic of the alleged "toxicology report," she left our home and drove straight to an upscale gated estate in Pedregal—the residence of Jorge Mendoza.
My investigator, a former police surveillance specialist named Javier, managed to intercept the cellular signal from a directional microphone directed at the estate's rear patio. I sat in Javier’s tinted van two blocks away, listening to the live audio through headphones.
"He knows something, Papa!" Karina’s voice was laced with hysteria. "The police are testing her medications! If they find the digitalis—"
"Silence, Karina!" Jorge Mendoza’s voice was cold, authoritative, and completely devoid of warmth. "You are panicking over nothing. The dosage was calibrated to leave no trace after forty-eight hours. The old woman was supposed to die quietly in her sleep three days ago. Your only mistake was letting Mateo get her to the ICU before her heart stopped."
"What do we do about the property?" Karina demanded. "If Mateo inherits the land directly without his mother transferring the power of attorney to me first, the original deed stays locked in his family name!"
"The land belongs to the Mendozas," Jorge snarled. "My father spent ten years trying to take that parcel back from Rodrigo Ruiz. Rodrigo died taking that secret to his grave, and his widow will do the same. If Mateo becomes a problem, we handle him the same way we handled his father."
Sitting in the dark van, hearing my father’s death explicitly confirmed by the man who orchestrated it, a cold fire ignited in my chest. It wasn't just land. It was murder. It was twenty-two years of stolen lives, hidden grief, and systematic deceit.
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"We have enough for a wiretap warrant on conspiracy to commit murder," Javier whispered, glancing at me with deep sympathy.
"Not yet," I said, staring at the estate gates. "They need to lay their hands on the original deeds. They need to think they’ve won."
