Chapter 5 - The Confrontation
The VIP wing of Ángeles Hospital was eerily quiet. It was past visiting hours, and the corridors were bathed in the dim, yellow glow of nightlights.
Mauricio had managed to slip past the ground-floor security by stealing a discarded janitorial uniform from a laundry cart out back. His heart hammered wildly against his ribs as he pulled the baseball cap low over his eyes, pushing a mop bucket down the sterile hallway toward Room 412.
He didn't have a plan. He only had desperation. If he could just talk to Valentina, manipulate her emotions, cry, and beg for forgiveness like he had done a hundred times before, maybe she would change her story. Maybe she would tell the police it was an accident.
He reached the heavy wooden door of Room 412. He checked over his shoulder. The nurse's station was empty.
Mauricio pushed the door open and slipped inside, closing it silently behind him.
The room was dark, illuminated only by the rhythmic flashing of the medical monitors. A figure lay in the bed, perfectly still beneath the white sheets.
"Vale?" Mauricio whispered, stepping closer to the bed. "Vale, baby, it's me. Please, you have to listen to me. It was an accident. I panicked. You know I love you."
He reached out to pull back the blanket.
Suddenly, the harsh overhead fluorescent lights snapped on, blinding him.
Mauricio threw his hands over his eyes. As his vision adjusted, the terror he had felt earlier multiplied by a thousand.
The bed was empty. Only a stack of pillows lay beneath the sheets.
Sitting in a leather armchair in the corner of the room, impeccably dressed in a dark suit, was Ernesto Aguilar.
"She was moved to a secure, private facility hours ago," Ernesto said, his voice calm, cultured, and terrifying. "Did you really think I would leave her unguarded?"
Mauricio stumbled backward, reaching for the door handle. It wouldn't turn. It was locked from the outside.
"Don Ernesto..." Mauricio stammered, dropping the mop. "Please. You have to believe me. I didn't push her. She slipped! She's confused because of the head trauma!"
Ernesto slowly stood up. He didn't look angry. He looked like a man looking at an insect he was about to crush under his heel.
"You stole from her," Ernesto said, taking a slow step forward. "You lied to her. You brought other women into the properties I paid for. I knew all of this, Mauricio. I watched you do it. I let it happen because my daughter loved you, and breaking her heart would have been a cruelty I was unwilling to inflict."
Ernesto stopped three feet away from Mauricio.
"But you couldn't be satisfied with merely breaking her heart," Ernesto whispered. "You tried to break her body. You tried to extinguish the only light in my life."
"I'm sorry!" Mauricio fell to his knees, openly weeping, a pathetic display of a broken man. "I'll leave the country! I'll sign the divorce papers! You'll never see me again! Just let me go!"
"Go?" Ernesto tilted his head. "Where would you go? You have no money. You have no passports—Iván confiscated them. You have no identity."
Ernesto reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, silver digital recorder. He pressed a button.
Mauricio's own voice echoed in the small room: "...Once she passes, my lawyers will already have the paperwork filed. I’ll be the grieving widower. Untouchable."
It was the conversation from the yacht with Isabella. Iván had planted listening devices on the boat months ago.
"Premeditation," Ernesto noted softly. "Combined with the physical evidence of the push, the forensic audit of your embezzlement, and Valentina's own testimony... you are looking at forty years in a maximum-security federal prison."
Ernesto walked over to the door and knocked twice.
The heavy door swung open. Standing in the hallway were four armed state police officers, accompanied by the lead detective on the case.
"Mauricio Serrano," the detective said, stepping into the room with a pair of heavy steel handcuffs. "You are under arrest for the attempted murder of Valentina Aguilar, and multiple counts of corporate fraud and embezzlement. You have the right to remain silent."
As the officers hauled Mauricio roughly to his feet, clamping the cold steel around his wrists, Mauricio looked back at Ernesto, his eyes wide with wild, helpless terror.
"Ernesto, please! Please!"
May you like
Ernesto adjusted his tie, his expression completely blank.
"I told you," Ernesto said quietly as Mauricio was dragged away. "I am the only creditor you have left. And your debt is now due."
