Chapter 3 - The Interrogation in the Study
The black Ford Expedition carrying Major Iván Reyes and two tactical operatives pulled into the driveway of the Naucalpan residence with military precision, cutting its headlights before the tires even crunched onto the gravel. Inside the house, the atmosphere was thick with the suffocating tension of an occupied zone. Mónica Vance was pacing back and forth across the living room rug, her wine glass abandoned on the coffee table, her face flushed with a mixture of righteous indignation and mounting panic.
"This is completely illegal!" Mónica shrieked as Major Reyes stepped through the shattered sliding door frame, his tall, imposing frame clad in civilian tactical gear that made his military background unmistakable. "I demand to know who you people are! I am calling the police! Emiliano, go to your room right now!"
"Emiliano is already in the guest suite with a military social services liaison, Mrs. Vance," Reyes said, his voice smooth, professional, and chillingly devoid of emotion. He flashed a federal badge that made Mónica’s breath catch in her throat. "Sit down on the sofa."
"I will do no such thing! My sister is married to a worthless mechanic who probably owes money to loan sharks, and now a bunch of thugs in suits come breaking into—"
"Mrs. Vance," Reyes interrupted, stepping forward with such quiet, calculated intensity that Mónica instinctively took two steps back, hitting the back of the sofa. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't threaten her with physical violence. He simply pulled a tablet from his tactical vest and turned the screen toward her.
On the screen was a security photograph taken from the exterior ring camera of the neighboring house, dated yesterday afternoon at 3:15 PM. The image clearly showed a sleek, dark sedan parked curbside, and a well-dressed man handing a heavy black aluminum case directly to Mónica Vance at the front gate, followed by a thick white envelope exchanged in return.
Mónica’s face drained of every drop of color. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
"We don't need a search warrant under Article 16 of the Federal Constitution when national security architecture has been compromised on private premises containing active intelligence assets," Reyes said softly, leaning down slightly so his eyes locked onto hers. "Where is the blue drive, Mónica?"
"I... I don't know what you're talking about!" she stammered, her voice cracking into a high-pitched squeak. "A man... a man came by! He said he was an old friend of Daniel's! He said Daniel owed him money for a gambling debt, and that if I didn't hold that case for him until Tuesday, they would repossess the house and throw us out on the street! He gave me fifty thousand pesos for groceries and rent!"
"A gambling debt," Reyes repeated, a dry, humorless smile touching the corner of his mouth. "Colonel Daniel Herrera does not gamble, Mrs. Vance. He doesn't drink, he doesn't take bribes, and he certainly doesn't associate with international arms brokers operating out of the Polanco financial district."
Before Mónica could formulate another lie, the front door swung open with a heavy thud.
Daniel stood in the entryway. He had left Valeria resting comfortably under the care of a trusted military pediatrician at the hospital, accompanied by a secure guard detail. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the corded muscle and old tactical scars that spanned his forearms—scars he had kept hidden beneath grease-stained work shirts for years. He walked slowly across the living room, his boots clicking rhythmically against the floor, stopping two feet away from where Mónica was cowering against the sofa.
"Daniel..." Mónica whispered, her voice trembling violently as she looked into his eyes for the first time and finally saw the terrifying, razor-sharp intelligence hidden behind the quiet facade of the neighborhood mechanic. "Daniel, please... I didn't know... the man said it was just business papers—"
"You locked my five-year-old daughter in the freezing rain with a high fever," Daniel said, his voice terrifyingly calm, carrying the weight of an executioner's verdict. "You dumped ice water on her. And then you sold the operational security of this country to settle your shopping debts."
"I'm family!" she screamed, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. "Clara is your wife! You can't do this to me!"
"Family doesn't poison children, Mónica," Daniel replied coldly. He turned to Major Reyes. "Secure the perimeter. Transfer her to the federal holding facility in Santa Fe under a Section Four national security hold. No phone calls. No legal representation until I authorize it."
"Understood, Colonel," Reyes saluted crisply.
As two operatives stepped forward to place heavy flex-cuffs around Mónica’s wrists, her screams echoed off the walls of the home she thought she had conquered. But Daniel wasn't looking at her anymore. His phone vibrated again.
May you like
It was an automated ping from the military tracking grid.
The blue drive had just been activated. The signal was pinging from an abandoned warehouse near the industrial zone of Cuautitlán Izcalli. The trap had been sprung, and the real hunt was about to begin.
