Chapter 3 - The Collapse of Cordova
Santiago Cordova Sr. sat at the mahogany head of the board table on the forty-fifth floor of Cordova Towers, overlooking a panoramic view of the Manhattan skyline. He was a man accustomed to absolute control. His company held billion-dollar municipal contracts, his political donations bought zoning laws before they hit the senate floor, and his son, Santiago Jr., was destined to inherit an empire.
The heavy oak doors of the boardroom burst open.
Santiago Sr. frowned, looking up from his tablet with annoyance. “I explicitly gave orders that I was not to be disturbed during the quarterly review. Where is security?”
It wasn't security that walked through the doors. It was a team of federal agents from the U.S. Attorney’s Office, flanked by armed marshals and two men in dark suits carrying heavy metal briefcases.
“Santiago Cordova?” the lead federal prosecutor asked, stepping forward and dropping a thick stack of federal indictments onto the mahogany table.
“What is the meaning of this?” Santiago stood up, his face flushing crimson with outrage. “Do you know who I am? I spoke to the mayor twenty minutes ago! My firm builds the bridges your cars drive on!”
“Your firm used substandard reinforced concrete on three major highway overpasses and bribed municipal inspectors to sign off on the falsified safety logs,” the prosecutor said coldly, opening a folder. “Furthermore, federal investigators have just seized all corporate assets, frozen your offshore accounts in the Caymans, and issued a warrant for your son regarding obstruction of justice and campus assault.”
Before Santiago could speak, the double doors opened again. A pale, trembling assistant rushed in, holding a tablet up like a shield.
“Sir! Look at the stock market!”
Santiago snatched the tablet. The screen displayed the live ticker for Cordova Enterprises. In the span of six minutes, their stock had plunged by eighty-two percent. Institutional investors were dumping shares by the millions, and international wire transfers were being automatically rejected by every major clearinghouse in North America.
“This is impossible!” Santiago roared, slamming his hands onto the table. “Who did this?! What bank did this?!”
May you like
Miles away, sitting in the quiet shadows of a black town car parked across the street from the tower, Daniel Salgado lowered his burner phone. He watched through tinted windows as police cars converged on the entrance of Cordova Towers, lights flashing against the glass facade.
He didn't smile. He simply tapped a message to his logistics coordinator: Cordova is down. Move to Beltran.
