Chapter 4 - The War Council
The grand drawing room of the Aranda mansion was a testament to old-money opulence. Oil paintings of ancestors lined the walls, and a massive crystal chandelier hung from the carved ceiling. But today, the room felt like a courtroom.
Doña Esther sat in her high-backed velvet armchair, her posture rigid, her hands resting on her silver-handled cane. Beside her stood Ricardo, her son-in-law, his face slick with sweat despite the heavy air conditioning. Marcela sat on the sofa, weeping hysterically into a silk handkerchief, though her eyes darted around the room like a cornered animal.
Alejandro walked into the room, followed closely by Marcus Vance—the international forensic accountant and legal advisor he had flown in from New York on a private jet three hours prior.
"Alejandro," Doña Esther said, her voice dripping with aristocratic authority. "What is the meaning of this theater? Your security guards are treating us like criminals in our own home. I will not tolerate this disrespect, especially not over that classless girl you brought into this family."
"The 'classless girl' is my wife, Mother," Alejandro said, slamming a thick leather binder onto the glass coffee table in front of her. The impact sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room. "And she is currently being examined by a medical board that is preparing a forensic report for the federal prosecutor's office."
Ricardo took a sharp breath, his hand flying to his collar. "Alejandro... let's not be rash. Whatever Valeria told you... she’s unstable. The pregnancy hormones—"
"Shut up, Ricardo," Alejandro snapped, turning a lethal gaze upon his brother-in-law. "Marcus, read the preliminary findings."
Marcus Vance stepped forward, opening his briefcase with clinical precision. "Over the past eighteen months, Mr. Ricardo Holdings, with the explicit authorization of Doña Esther Aranda, has diverted exactly forty-two million dollars from the Aranda Real Estate Development Fund into three shell corporations registered in Belize and Panama. The authorization documents use forged digital certificates belonging to Alejandro Aranda."
Marcus looked up, his eyes cold behind his wire-rimmed glasses. "Furthermore, the funds were used to cover massive gambling debts incurred by Ricardo in Las Vegas and to purchase offshore luxury real estate under Doña Esther’s maiden name. You didn't just steal from the company, Mr. Ricardo. You structured the transactions to trigger a federal tax fraud investigation that would point directly to Alejandro as the sole mastermind."
Doña Esther’s aristocratic facade didn't break, but her knuckles turned white around the handle of her cane. "Alejandro, everything we did was to protect the legacy. You were giving too much power to that girl. She wanted to audit the family foundation! She was looking into our private accounts! We had to ensure that the Aranda wealth stayed in the hands of true Arandas."
"By stealing from me? By framing my wife? By having your thug of a son-in-law throw a pregnant woman down the stairs?" Alejandro’s voice finally cracked with emotion, his chest heaving with rage. "You aren't protecting a legacy, Mother. You are a nest of thieves."
"You won't do anything, Alejandro," Ricardo suddenly sneered, trying to regain his footing. "If you take this to the federal prosecutor, the news will destroy Aranda Holdings. The stock will plummet. The banks will call in your development loans. You'll ruin yourself just to avenge a gallery girl."
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Alejandro walked over to Ricardo, stopping mere inches from his face. The sheer aura of power radiating from the young billionaire made Ricardo flinch.
"You think I care about the stock price, Ricardo?" Alejandro whispered, a terrifying smile touching his lips. "I built this empire from nothing at twenty-eight. I can burn it to the ground today and rebuild it by tomorrow. But you... you and my family are going to learn exactly what happens when you touch the only thing in this world I actually care about."
