Chapter 4 - The Net Tightens
By Saturday morning, the storm had cleared, leaving a cold, pale sunlight hovering over Querétaro.
In the master suite of the Juriquilla mansion, the atmosphere was chaotic. Glass from broken champagne flutes was scattered across the terrace, and the scent of stale alcohol hung heavy in the air.
Víctor Mondragón sat at the dining table, a thick white bandage wrapped around his head where Efraín’s wrench had struck him. Beside him, Lorena was pacing furiously, her wrists raw and red from the duct tape. Raúl Mondragón stood near the window, frantically typing on two encrypted cell phones.
"He took everything!" Lorena shrieked, her voice high and panicked. "He took Julián, he took the documents, and he took my mother’s phone!"
"Shut up, Lorena!" Víctor roared, slamming his fist onto the table, causing the coffee cups to rattle. "Panicking isn't going to get us out of this!"
"We have twenty-four hours," Raúl said coldly, turning around to face them. "I just spoke with my contact at the registry office. The forged death certificate I uploaded is already flagged for verification because an emergency freeze was placed on the Rutas del Bajío corporate accounts at 6:00 AM."
"Who placed the freeze?" Víctor demanded.
"Efraín Salcedo," Raúl spat. "The old man is alive, you idiot. And he didn't just walk away—he pulled two hundred million pesos out of the operating accounts before the banks even opened."
Víctor felt a wave of nausea hit his stomach. "If I don't deliver the deed to the Lázaro Cárdenas freight yard to my associates by Sunday night, they won't just take the house. They'll put me in a lime pit."
"Then we end it today," Raúl said, his eyes narrowing with ruthless calculation. "Efraín is sixty-eight years old. He has no private army. He’s hiding out at his main terminal in El Marqués. He thinks he’s safe behind his security guards."
"What are you suggesting?" Lorena asked, her voice trembling.
"I have four men on the payroll from the state tactical response unit," Raúl disclosed, a dark grin spreading across his face. "We go in with an official search warrant for 'unlawful restraint,' claiming Efraín kidnapped his son while incapacitated. We execute the warrant, secure the old man, force the thumbprint transfer on the digital notary app, and close the file permanently."
"And Julián?" Lorena whispered, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face.
Víctor stood up, pulling his revolver from his waistband and checking the chamber. "Your husband died of an overdose three days ago, Lorena. You just haven't buried him yet."
Unbeknownst to the three of them, sitting in a parked delivery van two hundred yards down the street, two of Héctor Garza’s tactical operatives were wearing headphones, recording every word transmitted through a parabolic microphone aimed directly at the mansion’s dining room window.
Inside the van, the lead operative pressed a button on his radio.
"Boss," he reported directly to Efraín. "They’re taking the bait. Raúl Mondragón is assembling a corrupt tactical team to raid the El Marqués terminal at 4:00 PM under a fake warrant."
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On the other end of the line, sitting in his office overlooking the quiet freight yard, Efraín looked at his watch.
"Tell the Federal Attorney General's office in Mexico City that the trap is set," Efraín instructed calmly. "And make sure the camera crews from the national news network are parked behind the main warehouse."
