Chapter 4 - The Counter-Strike
The news of Brenda Salazar's arrest hit the high-society circles of San Miguel like a lightning bolt. For months, she had been parading through the luxury boutiques and charity galas, presenting herself as the mourning, elegant widow of the great Hector Mendoza.
Now, her mugshot—wet, disheveled, and pale with panic—was printed on the front page of the regional newspaper.
Inside her jail cell at the municipal detention center, Brenda sat on a concrete bench, her emerald-green dress wrinkled and stained. The door opened, and her defense attorney, a slick, expensive lawyer named Carlos Fuentes, walked in with a dark expression.
"Carlos, thank God," Brenda gasped, rushing to the bars. "Get me out of here. Pay the bail. I have the funds in the Belize account."
"The Belize account is gone, Brenda," Carlos said flatly, setting his briefcase on the small metal table. "Diego Mendoza filed a federal amparo asset freeze three hours ago. The federal prosecutor has flagged those funds as stolen corporate capital from Mendoza Logistics. You don't have a peso to your name right now."
Brenda’s breath hitched, her hands gripping the iron bars until her knuckles went white. "That’s impossible! Hector gave me that money! He loved me!"
"Hector was being drugged with high-dosage sedatives, Brenda, and the nurse you hired just cut a deal with the state prosecutor," Carlos countered, leaning in close. "They have the prescriptions. They have the video from the patio. If you go to trial on charges of elder abuse, corporate fraud, and identity theft, you aren't looking at bail. You're looking at twenty years in a federal penitentiary."
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"What do I do?" she whispered, the last remnants of her arrogance fracturing into pure terror.
"You need to give him the house, Brenda. You need to sign the rescission papers before he uncovers the rest of the ledger."
