Chapter 7 - The Seventy-Second Hour
At exactly 9:00 AM on Monday morning, the seventy-two hours expired.
The rain had stopped, leaving Coyoacán bathed in a pale, damp mist. Valeria stood on the sidewalk across from her childhood home, wearing a simple cream trench coat. The white bandage was still on her cheek, a physical marker of the boundary she had finally drawn. Sergio Alarcón stood beside her, accompanied by four uniform federal officers and a locksmith.
The locksmith approached the heavy wooden door, but before he could insert his tools, the lock clicked from the inside.
The door swung open. Mauricio stood in the entryway, his clothes wrinkled, his eyes bloodshot. He tried to draw himself up to his full height, pointing a finger at Valeria.
"You ungrateful little reptile," he spat. "You think a piece of paper makes you the master here? This is public harassment! I am filing an appeal—"
"There is no appeal for a federal asset freeze, Mr. Mendoza," one of the officers said, stepping past him and presenting an arrest warrant. "You are under arrest for commercial fraud, identity theft, and the falsification of financial instruments linked to the Querétaro housing development scheme."
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Mauricio’s jaw dropped. He looked at Valeria, expecting her to look away in guilt or fear. But she met his gaze with absolute, unyielding stillness.
As the handcuffs clicked around his wrists, Abril walked out behind him, carrying her plastic trash bags, her head hung low, her vanity entirely crushed. She didn't look at Valeria. She didn't say a word as she hurried down the steps and disappeared down the street.
