Chapter 3 - The Digital Ghost
By Wednesday afternoon, the news of the frozen assets had sent shockwaves through Arturo’s inner circle. Morelli Logistics was unable to process payroll for its fifty employees, vendor credit lines were locked, and the luxury home in Zapopan—where Arturo and Brenda were living—had its utilities threatened due to bounced auto-pay accounts.
Sitting in Licenciado Gomez’s high-rise office in downtown Guadalajara, we listened to the first set of audio files extracted from the USB drive that Lucial had hidden inside her purple bag.
Gomez’s office was quiet, save for the crackle of the desktop speakers.
"...she's getting weaker every day, Brenda," Arturo’s recorded voice echoed through the room, clear and chilling. "The doctor thinks it's a secondary complication from her lupus."
"Are you sure the compound leaves no trace?" Brenda’s voice responded over what sounded like a speakerphone connection. "If her father demands an autopsy, we’re screwed."
"Don't worry," Arturo laughed coldly on the recording. "It's a heavy-metal derivative imported through our customs channel in Manzanillo. It mimics natural liver toxicity. By the time anyone asks questions, she’ll be cremated, the estate will be ours, and those three little brats will be sitting in a state shelter."
Gomez hit the pause button. His face was grim, his knuckles white as he stared at the digital audio waves on his monitor.
"My God, Ernesto," Gomez whispered, running a hand over his face. "This isn't just civil fraud or child abandonment. This is premeditated capital murder."
"Can we take this directly to the State Attorney General?" I asked, my voice trembling with suppressed rage.
"We can, and we will," Gomez replied. "However, audio recordings obtained without a warrant or party consent can face heavy procedural challenges in a Mexican criminal court. Arturo’s defense team will claim the files were tampered with or recorded illegally."
"What about the physical evidence?" I pressed. "Mariana wasn't cremated, Gomez. I refused Arturo’s request for cremation hours after her death. I insisted on a traditional burial at the cemetery in Guadalajara."
Gomez’s eyes lit up. "You buried her?"
"Yes. She is lying in a sealed casket."
Gomez slammed his hand onto the desk. "Then we have him! If she was buried, a court-ordered exhumation and toxicological panel will detect the heavy-metal derivative! Combined with these recordings, no judge in Jalisco will grant him bail!"
"How long does an exhumation order take?"
"Normally, weeks," Gomez said, pulling out his phone. "But given the evidence of attempted flight and child abandonment, I can secure an emergency order from the State Prosecutor’s office by tomorrow morning."
Just then, my phone vibrated on the table. The screen displayed an unknown number from a local landline.
I signaled to Gomez and answered, putting it on speaker. "Hello?"
"Grandpa!"
It was Renata’s voice—my nine-year-old granddaughter. She was crying hysterically, her breaths coming in ragged gasps.
My blood ran ice-cold. "Renata! What’s wrong? Where are you? You’re supposed to be at school!"
"Grandpa, he came to the school!" Renata sobbed. "Dad came with two men in suits! The principal let him take Abril and me because he showed them our birth certificates! He said he was taking us to Puerto Vallarta! Lucía ran into the bathroom and locked herself inside, but they have us in his car!"
"Put Arturo on the phone!" I roared, standing up so fast my chair overturned.
A moment later, Arturo’s arrogant, sneering voice came through the line.
"Hello, Don Ernesto," Arturo said smoothly, the background noise of a speeding engine audible over the call. "Did you really think I’d sit back and let an old man ruin my life? I have parental rights over these girls. The court hasn't revoked them yet."
"Touch them, Arturo, and I will tear you apart with my bare hands!" I screamed into the phone, my heart pounding wildly.
"You won't do anything, old man," Arturo sneered. "I’m driving to our private estate near Chapala. If you want your precious granddaughters back, you bring that USB drive, the purple notebook, and sign the release documents transferring the trust to me by 8:00 PM tonight. No lawyers. No police. If I see a single patrol car, I take the girls on a private flight out of the country, and you will never see them again."
The line went dead.
I stood in the center of the office, breathing heavily, the world spinning around me.
May you like
Gomez gripped my shoulder firmly. "Ernesto! Listen to me! Do not go there alone! He is desperate!"
"He has my little girls, Roberto," I said, my voice dropping into a dark, fatal calm as I picked up my coat. "Call the State Prosecutor. Tell them to get the exhumation team ready. Because tonight, Arturo is going to learn what happens when you threaten my family."
