Chapter 6 - CHAPTER 5: THE AUCTION
Three days later, the news was still dominated by the search for the “delusional runaway wife.” Rodrigo had appeared on national television twice more, weeping dramatically and begging the public to help find me before my “condition” worsened.
Meanwhile, Lucía used her contacts in the corporate legal sector to trace the destination of the organ transport cooler Marisol had photographed. The auction was scheduled for Saturday night, hidden behind the façade of a high-society charity gala held at a private estate in the hills of Zapopan.
Using stolen credentials and executive outfits provided by Lucía’s wealthy allies, Lucía and I disguised ourselves as high-net-worth representatives of an overseas medical investment group. Renata remained in a chase car outside, monitoring police scanners and providing remote communications.
The estate was heavily guarded. Private security contractors with earpieces and concealed firearms scanned every guest as we entered the grand ballroom. Crystal chandeliers hung from high ceilings, and waiters in tuxedos served champagne to wealthy men and women who chatted casually about real estate, art, and stocks.
None of them looked like monsters. But under the floorboards of this estate, humanity was being sold by the gram.
“Target sighted,” Lucía whispered beside me, raising her glass.
Across the room stood Dr. Ernesto Beltrán, looking regal in a tailored tuxedo, talking to a group of international visitors. Next to him was Elvira, dressed in a stunning navy blue gown, smiling gracefully as she accepted condolences for her “tragic family situation.”
And then I saw Rodrigo.
He was standing near the terrace doors, sipping scotch. He didn’t look sick at all. The pale, drawn look he wore in his public videos was entirely absent. He looked relaxed, wealthy, and triumphant.
My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached. I had to force my hands to stay steady.
“Remember the plan,” Lucía murmured. “We aren’t here to confront them. We’re here to plant the drive.”
Lucía slipped away toward the estate’s private office corridor, while I slowly maneuvered through the crowd, keeping my head down under a wide-brimmed designer hat and dark evening makeup.
I made my way toward the lower level, where the private auction room was set up. Guests with special golden lapel pins were being escorted down a marble staircase by security guards.
I pulled a golden pin—stolen from a drunk investor in the valet area twenty minutes earlier—and attached it to my dress.
The guard at the bottom of the stairs glanced at the pin, bowed slightly, and opened the heavy oak doors.
Inside, twenty people sat in plush leather seats facing a small stage. On a screen behind the stage, medical profiles were being displayed like high-end real estate listings.
Lot 4: Cardiac tissue. Female, Age 31. Blood Type O-negative. Compatibility rating: 99.8%. Status: Pending retrieval.
My blood ran cold. It was my profile. They were still auctioning off my heart, treating my escape as a mere logistical delay.
Then the auctioneer, a sharp-featured man in a grey suit, stepped up to the podium.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced in fluent English. “We apologize for the brief delay regarding Lot 4. The acquisition has experienced a minor administrative hold, but our brokers assure us the delivery will occur within seventy-two hours.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” a voice echoed from the back of the room.
May you like
Every head turned.
I stood up, took off my hat, and stepped directly under the spotlight.
