Chapter 4 - The Pursuit on the Expressway
The rain had returned, turning the highway into a slick, treacherous ribbon of grey asphalt winding through the hills toward the high-rise district of Santa Fe.
Alejandro drove with both hands glued to the steering wheel, his knuckles white, his eyes darting continuously between the road and the rear-view mirror. He was terrified, but for the first time in two years, he was clear-headed.
"They're behind us, Mom," Alejandro said, his voice tight. "The dark sedan. It’s been three cars back since we left Coyoacán."
Teresa sat in the passenger seat, adjusting her side mirror with calm precision. She didn't look back; she didn't need to. She had conducted high-speed pursuits and evasive maneuvers through Mexico City for three decades.
"He's not trying to hide," Teresa noted coldly. "Roberto is desperate. He knows if we open that safety deposit box before his lawyers execute the fraudulent trust freeze, his entire paper trail gets exposed to the Federal Attorney General."
"What do we do if they try to ram us?" Alejandro panicked as the gray sedan pulled out of its lane, accelerating rapidly along their left side.
"Keep your lane," Teresa commanded sharply. "Do not speed up. Do not panic. Look ahead."
The gray sedan pulled alongside their car. The tinted passenger window slid down halfway, revealing a thick-necked man wearing a dark rain jacket. He raised a heavy metal bat, pointing it menacingly at Alejandro’s window, gesturing for them to pull over onto the narrow shoulder of the elevated highway.
"Ignore him," Teresa ordered. "He won't risk a heavy collision at sixty miles an hour with highway traffic around us. He wants you to swerve into the concrete barrier."
"Mom, he’s coming closer!" Alejandro yelled as the gray car edged dangerously near their front fender.
Teresa calmly reached into her purse, pulled out her heavy brass frame reading-glasses case, and rolled down her window just two inches.
When the gray sedan tried to squeeze them again, Teresa didn't flinch. She picked up her phone, held it clearly up to the window, and pressed the speaker button.
"Captain Rivas," Teresa spoke loudly into the phone. "We are currently on the Mexico-Toluca Expressway, kilometer 14. A dark gray Nissan Maxima, license plate 7-8-2-Y-T-X, is currently attempting to force our vehicle off the road. I am recording live video feed directly to the precinct server."
The man in the gray sedan saw the phone, saw Teresa's unblinking, calm expression, and heard the crackle of a police dispatcher radio coming through the car’s speakers.
The man cursed, slammed his brakes, and fell back two car lengths, ducking his face away from the camera lens.
Alejandro let out a long breath he seemed to have been holding for ten miles. "How... how did you know he would back off?"
"Criminals like that rely on intimidation, Alejandro," Teresa said quietly, closing her phone. "They expect ordinary citizens to panic, freeze, and make mistakes. The moment you show them that you are recording, documenting, and legally prepared, their entire strategy collapses."
Ten minutes later, the towering glass skyscrapers of Santa Fe loomed through the misty rain.
Alejandro pulled the car into the underground parking garage of the Banco de México building. Security guards in crisp black uniforms moved around the entrance, their presence providing a heavy layer of protection.
As they stepped out of the car, Teresa’s phone buzzed. It was a encrypted message from Laura.
Emergency warrant signed by Judge Mendez. Federal agents are en route to Morales Real Estate headquarters in Querétaro right now. Get the documents.
"Let's go," Teresa said.
They took the private elevator up to the subterranean vault level. The air inside the bank vault was cool, silent, and smelled of heavy steel and air conditioning. A silver-haired bank officer greeted them at the thick iron gate.
"Mr. Valdés," the officer said, checking Alejandro's ID. "We received a notice from your legal counsel earlier today regarding a temporary hold on Box 408—"
"My mother is carrying a federal court order signed by Judge Mendez, overriding any civil hold," Alejandro said, his voice holding a firm, authoritative edge that Teresa hadn't heard in years.
Teresa handed the paper document to the officer. The man read it quickly, his eyebrows rising in surprise.
"Right this way," he said respectfully, opening the heavy steel gate.
Inside the private viewing room, the officer placed the heavy steel box on the counter. Alejandro inserted his primary key, and Teresa inserted the small silver key Mateo had given them.
With two synchronized turns, the lock clicked open.
Alejandro lifted the heavy metal lid. Inside lay thick stacks of legal folders, property deeds, and a black leather ledger.
Teresa immediately picked up the black ledger, flipping through its pages with expert speed. Her eyes widened.
"This isn't just your trust file, Alejandro," Teresa whispered, her voice filled with dark realization. "This is Roberto Morales's master ledger. Karla didn't keep her private files in Querétaro... she kept them here, inside your deposit box, using your family's clean name to hide her stolen assets."
Alejandro stared into the box. "What?"
"Look at these names," Teresa said, pointing to column after column of property transfers. "Widows in Puebla, retired professors in Guadalajara... dozens of victims. Millions of dollars laundered through shell accounts."
Suddenly, the glass door of the vault lobby rattled.
May you like
Through the reinforced glass, Teresa saw three men in expensive suits accompanied by a bank executive walking rapidly down the corridor. Leading them was a tall, sharp-featured man with slicked-back hair and cold, arrogant eyes.
Roberto Morales had arrived.
