Chapter 2 - The Exit Through the Storm
The rain outside had turned into a freezing downpour, whipping against the rear exterior wall of the house in the upscale Juriquilla neighborhood of Querétaro.
Efraín moved through the dark side alley of the property, carrying Julián’s weight while balancing against the brick wall. Inside the main house, the New Year’s party was in full swing; music vibrated through the glass patio doors, and shadows of people dancing drifted past the curtained windows.
"Where... where are we going?" Julián rasped, his head resting heavily against his father’s shoulder.
"To the rig," Efraín replied quietly, stepping through a gap in the wooden fence toward the dark lane behind the property line.
Parked in the shadows beneath a stand of eucalyptus trees sat Efraín’s personal vehicle—not the old farm pickup he drove around town to keep up appearances, but a dark, armored 1998 Ford F-350 dual-rear-wheel truck fitted with a custom steel bumper and tinted windows.
Efraín unlocked the rear door, gently laying Julián across the leather bench seat. He quickly pulled a heavy wool blanket from under the seat and wrapped it around his son, then retrieved a trauma medical kit he always kept in his vehicles.
"Drink this," Efraín said, handing Julián a bottle of water and two strong painkillers.
Julián swallowed the pills greedily, clutching his father’s forearm with trembling fingers. "Dad... Graciela... Lorena's mother... she's upstairs wearing Mom’s coat."
Efraín’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with a quiet, lethal calm. "I saw her."
"They've been planning this for six months," Julián admitted, tears breaking through his exhaustion. "When I got promoted to regional director, Lorena started changing. She insisted we buy this house. She kept bringing her father into the office... asking about the deeds to the freight yards in Lázaro Cárdenas. When I told her the yards belonged to a private family trust and that I didn't have the authority to sell them... that's when Víctor brought in his men."
"Who is the cousin?" Efraín asked, adjusting the blanket around Julián’s crushed leg. "You mentioned a cousin over the phone."
"Raúl Mondragón," Julián whispered. "He works for the state prosecutor’s office in the fraud division. He’s the one who forged the death certificate and the probate documents. He told Víctor that if they kept me incapacitated for a week, they could file the emergency power of attorney before the courts re-opened on January 2nd."
Before Efraín could respond, the rear door of the house burst open down the alleyway.
A tall man in a dark rain jacket rushed out into the yard, holding a tactical flashlight. It was Raúl Mondragón. He jogged toward the mechanical room entrance, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw the broken lock dangling from the outer door.
"Víctor! Lorena!" Raúl called out, his voice laced with anxiety.
When no response came, Raúl pulled a semi-automatic pistol from his belt and vanished inside the basement entrance.
"He found them," Julián warned, trying to sit up.
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"Stay down," Efraín ordered, shutting the rear door quietly. He climbed into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and brought the massive V8 engine to life.
Instead of turning on his headlights, Efraín shifted the truck into reverse, backed out onto the main boulevard, and accelerated into the torrential rain, leaving the party and the mansion behind in the darkness.
