Chapter 16
The drive back to my mother’s house after the gala was suffocatingly tense. The adrenaline of directly confronting Senator Vargas was slowly fading, replaced by the stark, terrifying reality of his explicit threats. He knew I had my father's journal, and he knew I was not going to quietly surrender the land. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, constantly checking my rearview mirror as I navigated the winding, dimly lit streets leading toward Coyoacán. Valentina sat beside me, her expression grim but resolute, her hand resting comfortingly on my knee.
"He essentially confessed, Alejandro," Valentina said quietly, breaking the heavy silence in the car. "He didn't even try to deny his involvement with the Mendozas. He just assumed his power makes him completely untouchable."
"He's been operating with absolute impunity for twenty-two years," I replied, my eyes scanning the road ahead. "He thinks we are just a minor nuisance that can be easily crushed. But we have the tapes. We have the maps."
As we approached a deserted intersection near the highway overpass, a massive, heavily armored black SUV suddenly blew through the red stoplight, violently swerving into our lane. I slammed on the brakes, the tires screeching loudly against the asphalt, narrowly avoiding a catastrophic, head-on collision.
"Hold on!" I shouted, violently wrenching the steering wheel to the right as the black SUV aggressively reversed, attempting to deliberately ram the side of my car.
This wasn't a random drunk driver. This was Vargas’s response to our conversation at the gala. He had sent his executioners to silence us before we could leak the evidence. I slammed my foot on the accelerator, weaving erratically through the narrow, residential streets, desperately trying to lose the massive vehicle tailing us.
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The SUV was faster and much heavier. It repeatedly slammed into my rear bumper, the violent impacts jarring our bones and shattering my taillights. Valentina braced her hands against the dashboard, her breathing heavy but remarkably calm under the terrifying circumstances.
I saw a narrow, pedestrian-only alleyway approaching on my left—a shortcut I had memorized from my childhood. I jerked the steering wheel hard, sending my car skidding wildly into the tight space, scraping the side mirrors against the brick walls. The massive, armored SUV attempted to follow, but it was far too wide. It crashed violently into the brick corner of the alley, wedging itself completely stuck with a horrific screech of tearing metal. I didn't stop driving until we were miles away, securely hidden in the underground parking garage of a crowded downtown hotel. We had survived the night, but the message was undeniably clear: Vargas was no longer playing defense. He was actively hunting us.
