Chapter 5 - Shadows in the Capital
While the reunion on the dusty street of Iztacalco felt like a scene from a cinematic drama, back in the upscale financial district of Polanco, a very different kind of conversation was unfolding behind closed doors.
In a penthouse office overlooking Chapultepec Park, a man named Roberto Garza paced across the imported Turkish rug, a cellular phone pressed tightly against his ear. Garza was a fixer—a man who handled the illicit acquisitions, backroom coercion, and corporate espionage for entities that preferred their hands clean while their bank accounts swelled.
“I don't care about his diplomatic immunity, verify the registry!” Garza barked into the phone, his face red with frustration. “The Al-Masri estate documents were supposed to clear through our shell company by the end of the quarter. If Al-Hassan found the daughter—if the lineage is legally verified in Mexico—our entire claim on the Levant development tracts becomes worthless!”
On the other end of the line, a nervous voice stammered, “Boss, Al-Hassan’s security detail is airtight. Former special forces, international clearance, we can’t touch them near the hotel. And now they’ve moved out of the Reforma property entirely.”
“Moved where?” Garza demanded, stopping his pacing.
“We tracked their convoy heading south toward a private airstrip near Toluca. They’ve chartered a private flight.”
Garza slammed his fist against the mahogany windowsill, the glass rattling sharply. “They’re heading back to the Middle East. If she signs those papers over to the royal trust, we lose everything we’ve invested the past five years setting up.”
“What do you want us to do, Mr. Garza?”
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Garza stared out at the sprawling, smog-hazy expanse of Mexico City, his eyes narrowing into cold, calculating slits. “Call the contacts at the airfield. We can’t stop a royal charter flight legally, but a delayed takeoff... a security hold... that gives us enough time to have a face-to-face conversation with the cleaning lady before she boards.”
He hung up the phone abruptly, grabbing his tailored suit jacket from the back of the chair. The game was no longer about corporate maneuvering. It was about interception, and Garza was a man who played dirty when the billions were on the line.
