Chapter 4 - The House of Cards
By 5:30 p.m., dark thunderclouds rolled over the valley of Mexico City, plunging the mansion into a dim, moody twilight. Rain began to patter rhythmically against the expansive floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the formal living room.
Estefanía was pacing near the grand marble fireplace, wearing an elegant dark velvet dress. She held a glass of white wine, her eyes darting nervously toward the staircase every few minutes.
Alejandro had carried Renata upstairs two hours ago, locked the nursery door from the inside, and remained sitting beside his daughter’s bed while she slept. He hadn't spoken a word to Estefanía since the garden.
He’s just being overly protective, Estefanía reassured herself, taking a large gulp of wine. He’s an engineer at heart. He likes control. Once Peralta gets here with the official medical documentation, Alejandro will fold. He always defers to experts.
Suddenly, the heavy wrought-iron front gates of the estate opened.
A sleek black Mercedes sedan pulled up the curved driveway, stopping right at the front portico.
A man stepped out holding a leather medical briefcase. It was Dr. Fernando Peralta—forty-five years old, sharply dressed in a tailored suit beneath a white lab coat, wearing a gold Rolex that gleamed under the entrance lights.
Estefanía personally opened the grand mahogany front door, letting him inside.
"Thank God you're here, Fernando," she whispered urgently, pulling him into the foyer out of earshot of the staff. "Alejandro is upstairs. He fed her chicken and rice. You need to make sure your report states that starches cause immediate, severe internal inflammation."
Dr. Peralta gave a smooth, arrogant smirk, adjusting his silk tie. "Relax, Estefanía. I've forged medical charts for half the corrupt politicians in this city. A grieving billionaire who knows nothing about pediatric gastroenterology isn't going to see through my diagnostic report. Where is he?"
"In the nursery," Estefanía replied. "Come up."
As they reached the second-floor landing, the heavy oak doors of the master study swung open.
"Dr. Peralta," Alejandro’s voice echoed down the hall.
The doctor and Estefanía turned.
Alejandro stood in the doorway of his study, wearing his dark grey suit jacket, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. His face was entirely devoid of emotion—neither welcoming nor hostile.
"Alejandro, darling!" Estefanía smiled smoothly, taking Peralta’s arm. "Look who dropped by! Dr. Peralta was in the neighborhood visiting another high-profile client and decided to check on Renata’s progress after hearing about her episode this morning."
"How generous of you, Doctor," Alejandro said, stepping out into the hallway. "Please, step into my study first. I’d like to review my daughter’s complete medical file before you examine her."
Dr. Peralta offered a polished, authoritative smile. "Of course, Mr. Villarreal. A father’s concern is entirely understandable. However, time is of the essence with juvenile stomach inflammation. I should really check her vitals first—"
"The study, Doctor," Alejandro interrupted.
It wasn't a request. The tone was so heavy, so dense with unspoken authority, that Dr. Peralta’s confident smile faltered for a fraction of a second.
"Right... of course," Peralta murmured, glancing at Estefanía before walking toward the study.
Inside the grand study, the heavy floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and dark mahogany furniture created an atmosphere that felt less like a residential home and more like a high-court tribunal.
Dr. Peralta walked over to the leather armchair in front of the desk, setting his briefcase down. "Now, Mr. Villarreal, as I’ve explained to your lovely wife, Renata’s condition is a rare form of pediatric autoimmune enteropathy. It requires strict adherence to our custom liquid detox protocol—"
"Tell me, Doctor," Alejandro interrupted smoothly, walking around his desk and sitting down in his high-backed leather chair. "Which university did you complete your pediatric residency at?"
Peralta blinked, slightly taken aback. "I... I completed my fellowship at the National Institute of Pediatrics, followed by specialized training in Madrid."
"Fascinating," Alejandro murmured, opening a leather folder resting on his desk. "Because according to the official registry of the Ministry of Health, your medical license in pediatric sub-specialties was revoked four years ago following a malpractice suit involving falsified prescriptions."
The room went dead silent.
The rain outside hammered against the glass panes like a barrage of tiny arrows.
Dr. Peralta froze. The color instantly drained from his face, leaving his slick, tanned skin looking sickly and yellow. "What... what nonsense is this? Who gave you that information?!"
Estefanía, who was standing near the door, gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "Alejandro! What are you saying?! Dr. Peralta is one of the most respected specialists in Polanco!"
"He's a fraud, Estefanía," Alejandro said softly, without raising his voice. He reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a stack of printed financial documents, and tossed them across the mahogany desk.
"And these," Alejandro continued, pointing at the papers, "are bank statements showing monthly wire transfers of forty thousand dollars from your private account, Estefanía, into an offshore shell company registered in Panama under Dr. Peralta’s sister’s name."
Estefanía’s eyes widened in absolute, sheer terror. Her knees buckled slightly, and she had to grab the back of a sofa to keep from falling. "Alejandro... I... I can explain—"
"You paid him to poison my daughter," Alejandro said, every word dropping like a anvil into the silent room. "You paid him to write fake prescriptions for liquid laxatives and industrial appetite suppressants to keep a four-year-old child weak, sick, and starving."
Dr. Peralta frantically grabbed his briefcase, turning toward the door. "This is insane! I'm leaving! You can't hold me here!"
"Sit down, Peralta," a deep voice boomed from the hallway.
Mateo—Alejandro’s six-foot-four head of security—stepped through the study door, flanked by two armed security officers in dark suits. Mateo placed a heavy, iron-like hand on Dr. Peralta’s shoulder and shoved him violently back into the leather armchair.
"You're not going anywhere, Doctor," Mateo said coldly.
Dr. Peralta began to sweat profusely, his Rolex trembling against his wrist as he looked from Mateo’s brutal face to Alejandro’s unyielding eyes. "Villarreal... please! It was her idea! Estefanía came to me! She said she needed the child to look chronically ill so the court would grant her co-guardianship over the family trust! She paid me! I just wrote the prescriptions!"
"You coward!" Estefanía shrieked, her sweet facade completely disintegrating into a grotesque mask of hysterical rage. "Shut up! Shut your mouth!"
She turned to Alejandro, tears streaming down her face, throwing herself toward his desk. "Alejandro! He's lying! He coerced me! I did it for Renata! I thought the detox was real! I was trying to save her!"
Alejandro looked down at the woman kneeling beside his desk, weeping, clawing at his trousers, offering the same pathetic lies she had used to torture an innocent child for months.
He felt no anger now. He felt only an overwhelming, absolute disgust.
May you like
He pressed a button on his desk intercom.
"Dr. Valenzuela," Alejandro said calmly. "Bring the authorities up."
