Chapter 6: When the Ground Shifts
By noon the video had crossed two million views.
By two o'clock, three financial journalists had contacted Montemayor Group's press office asking for comment on the Alcázar Corporation's debt exposure.
By three, two members of the Montemayor board called Mariana directly — not me, Mariana — to ask whether the company's position was stable.
I called them back myself.
"The company's position is exactly what it was yesterday," I told the first one, a man named Garza-Ibáñez who had served on the board since my grandfather's time.
"The credit guarantees extended to Alcázar Corporation have been suspended pending legal review.
Our exposure is being assessed."
"Valeria, the video—"
"Is not a board matter.
My personal life is not a board matter.
What is a board matter is that I have identified an attempt to challenge the codicil that established my controlling interest, and I am addressing it through legal counsel."
A pause.
"Who filed the challenge?"
"Ernesto Alcázar."
Another pause, longer.
"I see."
"I'd like a full board meeting by end of week.
I'll have Licenciado Fuentes present."
"Of course.
Yes.
Of course."
The second board member, a woman named Dolores Vásquez-Prim, was less cautious.
"I always thought that engagement moved too fast," she said, before I had finished explaining.
"Your grandfather didn't trust them either.
He told me so at the Christmas dinner two years ago."
"He told you that?"
"He said Ernesto Alcázar had the handshake of a man who was counting what was in your pockets while he squeezed your hand." She made a short sound.
"He was not wrong."
"Dolores.
Did my grandfather ever mention any concerns about the will to you directly?"
"He mentioned that he had made changes.
He said he wanted to be certain you were protected before he was gone." Her voice shifted slightly.
"He said there were people who would try to take from you the moment he wasn't there to stop them."
I sat with that for a moment.
"Thank you," I said.
"Don't thank me.
Win."
Santiago arrived at my building at four-fifteen without calling first.
The front desk rang up to tell me.
I told them to let him wait in the lobby and came down seven minutes later.
He was standing near the window with his jacket off, his shirt untucked on one side.
He looked like a man who had not slept and had been arguing with people all day.
He probably had.
"You're not returning my calls," he said.
"I'm returning this one in person.
What do you want, Santiago?"
"I want to fix this."
"Which part?"
"All of it." He stepped closer.
"The video is everywhere.
My family is—"
"Your family is facing the consequences of what they planned.
That's not something I can fix for you."
"Valeria." His voice dropped.
"I know I handled this wrong.
I know the way it happened was — I know it was wrong.
But what my father did with the will, the legal challenge — I swear to you I did not know the full extent of it."
"You knew about the offshore account."
His face changed.
"The one you and Rodrigo opened together," I said.
"The one Renata has been drawing from since he died."
"That's — that money was Rodrigo's.
He set it up for her."
"With your signature on the account."
"As a backup.
In case something happened to him and she couldn't access it alone."
"Something did happen to him." I watched his face carefully.
"Santiago.
How did your brother die?"
The question hit him differently than I expected.
Not guilt.
Not calculation.
Fear.
Real fear, moving through him fast and then locked down just as fast.
"Heart attack," he said.
"You know that."
"I know what the certificate says."
"Then why are you asking me?"
"Because Dr.
Amparo Reyes flagged the case for toxicology review and someone added a line to her file that she didn't write.
Because the supervising physician who overrode her was your father's university friend.
Because your brother was thirty-four years old with a clean cardiac history."
Santiago's face had gone the color of the marble floor.
"Don't," he said.
Very quietly.
"Don't what?"
"Don't go down that road." His voice was barely above a whisper.
"You don't know what you're touching."
"Then tell me."
He looked at me for a long moment.
Something moved behind his eyes — not affection, not strategy.
Something that looked, for just a moment, like genuine warning.
"Walk away from this, Valeria.
Take the company.
Drop the legal fight — I'll get my father to withdraw the challenge tonight.
Keep everything.
Just stop asking about Rodrigo."
"Why?"
He picked up his jacket from the chair.
"Because the people who know the answer to that question are not people you want knowing your name."
He walked to the door.
"Santiago."
He stopped but didn't turn around.
"Is the baby yours?"
A long silence.
May you like
"Yes," he said.
And then he left.
