“Ms. Robles,” he said when the line connected. “Wake up.”
“Don Ernesto, what happened?”
“Activate the Omega protocol.”
Silence followed.
“Against whom?”
“Mauricio Serrano. Freeze his accounts, buy his debts, review his properties, loans, cars, the yacht—everything. Before sunrise, I want to be that miserable man’s only creditor.”
The lawyer inhaled sharply.
“That means total war.”
Ernesto watched the operating room doors close.
“No,” he said. “It means justice.”
And while Mauricio was kissing another woman on the yacht Ernesto had paid for, he had no idea that the man he betrayed had just made the call that would destroy his life.
I could not believe what was about to happen.
PART 2
The first video arrived at 12:37 a.m.
Iván showed it to Ernesto without speaking. On the screen, Valentina’s yacht, Valentina’s Light, glimmered on the water like an insult. Champagne bottles covered the tables. Music blasted. People danced as if no woman was fighting for her life ten minutes away.
Mauricio Serrano stood in the middle of it all.
He wore a light jacket, an open shirt, and the smile of a man who believed he was free. Beside him, a dark-haired woman in a red dress touched his chest with the confidence of someone who thought she had already won.
Mauricio raised his glass.
“To new beginnings,” he said, the long-range microphone catching every word. “And to freedom.”
The guests cheered.
The woman kissed him.
Ernesto did not blink.
“Who is she?”
“Camila Rivera,” Iván answered. “Event planner. She has traveled with Mauricio to Tulum, Los Cabos, and Miami over the last six months.”
Something inside Ernesto fractured, but he did not shout. Men like him did not shout when they were about to bury someone.
Then his phone vibrated.
It was Ms. Robles.
“We found a life insurance policy. Thirty million pesos. Beneficiary: Mauricio Serrano. Updated eight months ago.”
Ernesto read the message twice.
The fall. The delay in calling for help. The refusal to approve surgery. The yacht party. The mistress. The insurance.
The crack was no longer a crack.
It was an abyss.
At 1:15 a.m., the lawyer called again.
“There’s something else,” she said. “Valentina signed a medical directive six weeks ago giving Mauricio full control if she became incapacitated.”
“My daughter would never sign that without telling me.”
“The signature looks wrong. I’ve already sent it to an expert.”
Ernesto clenched his jaw.
“Find the notary.”
“We’re already looking.”
At 2:28 a.m., the neurosurgeon came out.
Ernesto stood before she could speak.
