Part 2
Esteban did not notify his lawyers, did not call his pilot, and did not use his private plane.
If Renata or Mauricio saw his name in any record, they would move the escape forward and Lucía would disappear.
In under two hours, using a legal identity no one connected to him, he boarded a commercial flight to Mexico. During the eleven-hour journey, he didn’t close his eyes.
He thought of Renata — the woman he had helped out of debt, dressed in diamonds and seated beside him at tables where no one entered without an invitation. He thought of Mauricio, the man who knew his accounts better than anyone.
But mostly he thought of Lucía, hiding in a closet, wondering whether her father would reach her in time.
When he landed at Mexico City International Airport, a black SUV was waiting in the rain. Inside sat Víctor Olmedo, his most trusted man — large, serious, with a scar across his eyebrow.
“Boss,” Víctor said. “If the prosecutor’s office finds out you set foot in Mexico, they’ll come after you.”
“Let them come afterward,” Esteban replied. “First, tell me where my daughter is.”
Víctor handed him a folder.
“The girl is still in Las Lomas. Renata will be at the Salazar Foundation gala tonight at the Hotel Imperial Reforma. But she left Lucía with someone described as a social worker. We checked the license plate. That woman doesn’t work for the government. She’s connected to an illegal adoption network.”
Esteban didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t slam his hand against the glass. He simply closed the folder with quiet, measured control.
“Renata wasn’t going to abandon her,” he said. “She was going to sell her.”
Víctor lowered his eyes.
“Orders?”
Esteban looked out at the rain-soaked city lights.
“You go after Lucía. Don’t contact me until she’s in your arms. Nobody touches my daughter.”
“And you?”
“I’m going to the gala. Renata wants to say goodbye to Mexico smiling in front of cameras. Let’s give her an audience for her downfall.”
At eight in the evening, the main hall of the Hotel Imperial Reforma glittered like an expensive lie. Politicians, journalists, business figures, and socialites filled the room.
Renata moved between them in an emerald green dress with a diamond necklace and her signature perfect smile. Mauricio, pale and visibly sweating, checked his watch every few minutes.
Fifteen minutes remained before the final transfer — four million more from an account named Horizonte Capital.
Outside in the truck, Esteban waited for a message. His fingers weren’t trembling, but something inside him was breaking with every passing second.
At 8:52, the phone vibrated. It was Víctor.
I have her. She’s safe. She’s asking for you.
Esteban closed his eyes. He drew one slow breath. Then he opened the door and walked into the hotel — soaked from the rain, followed by four men in dark suits.
He didn’t hide. He walked down the main hallway like someone returning to a house they had never truly left.
In the hall, Renata stepped up to the microphone and tapped a glass with a spoon.
“Thank you for joining me tonight,” she said. “In these difficult times, while Esteban faces injustices abroad, I have tried to protect his legacy with love and loyalty.”
The doors to the ballroom swung open.
The sound was loud enough to stop the music. Every head turned.
Esteban stood at the entrance, his black coat dripping onto the carpet, his eyes locked on Renata.
The glass slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor.
He walked toward the stage as the crowd parted around him. He didn’t raise his voice. There was no need.
“Don’t stop on my account, Renata,” he said. “Tell them what you did with my money. And above all, tell them what you were planning to do with my daughter.”
