Chapter 2 - The Biological Mastermind
The rain in Monterrey fell in heavy, rhythmic sheets, washing over the sleek black sedan parked two blocks from the luxury residential tower in San Pedro Garza García. Inside, the only light came from the blue glow of my tablet and the digital dashboard, casting long shadows across my face.
Julian adjusted the rearview mirror, his sharp eyes darting between the street monitors and my profile. "We’ve confirmed Mauricio’s morning itinerary, Renata. He booked a 9:00 AM appointment at the private diagnostic clinic in San Pedro. He believes he’s completing the physical exam for the eighty-million-peso life insurance policy he forged under your name."
"Let him complete it," I said, my voice as cold and measured as the concrete foundations I had laid across Nuevo León. "Let him sign every line, sign his name with that arrogant, fluid flourish he practiced in front of the mirror when we were first married."
I ran my fingers over the second page of the document inside the blue folder.
Mauricio’s medical evaluation from ten years ago—retrieved under Prosecutor Adriana Beltrán’s sealed federal warrant—showed an absolute, irreversible diagnosis of azoospermia resulting from a childhood bout of severe mumps. It was a genetic impossibility for him to father children. He had known this before he ever met me. He had used my desire for a family, my quiet grief over every negative pregnancy test, as a weapon to gaslight me, making me believe my body was the broken link in our marriage while his mother fed me poison under the guise of fertility teas.
"And the children?" I asked softly, looking at the second set of DNA profiles.
"Camila’s three sons—seven, five, and three years old," Julian said, opening a digital dossier on his screen. "We ran their markers against the regional criminal database and private corporate registries as ordered by Prosecutor Beltrán. All three boys share a 99.9% paternal match."
Julian tapped the screen, bringing up a photograph of a man in his late fifties with slicked-back gray hair, sharp features, and a permanent, condescending sneer.
"Fausto Treviño," I whispered, the air leaving my lungs.
Fausto Treviño was not just any man. He was the CEO of Grupo Treviño, Norte Firme’s primary commercial rival in Northern Mexico—and the main financial backer currently attempting a hostile takeover of my industrial logistics parks in Apodaca.
"Camila isn't just Mauricio's mistress," Julian explained, his tone laced with disgust. "She was Fausto Treviño’s personal secretary and former mistress. When Treviño realized he couldn't beat Norte Firme in open market bidding, he placed Camila in Mauricio’s orbit four years ago. Mauricio thought he was playing the mastermind, stealing a younger woman and building a secret second family with my money. In reality, he was being played by Treviño from day one."
A dark, bitter humor rose in my chest. Mauricio had thrown me into an elevator hall, barefoot and bruised, celebrating his victory over a "barren little nobody," totally oblivious to the fact that his prized heirs were the biological sons of his bitterest corporate enemy—and that Camila was funneling every piece of Norte Firme’s financial data straight to Treviño’s desk.
"Where is Prosecutor Beltrán?" I asked.
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"She’s at the state command center," Julian replied, putting the car in drive. "The wiretaps captured Mauricio’s phone call thirty minutes ago. He just called his mother to celebrate. He’s planning to present the forged power-of-attorney documents to your board of directors at the emergency meeting tomorrow morning."
"Good," I said, leaning back into the leather headrest, closing my eyes as the rain hammered against the glass. "Let him walk into the boardroom thinking he owns the world. I want him at the highest peak of his arrogance when the floor opens up beneath his feet."
