Chapter 2 - The Uninvited GuestThe three sharp rings of the doorbell cut through the suffocating silence of the living room.
Patricia’s hand froze beneath the velvet sofa cushion, her fingers still clutching the corner of a thick manila folder. Doña Carmen’s painted smile faltered, her heavily ringed fingers twitching against her gold necklace.
Diego did not look away from his mother. His phone was still raised, the small red recording dot blinking like a silent, accusing eye.
"Aren't you going to open it, Mom?" Diego asked, his voice low, steady, and entirely devoid of the warmth he had carried in his heart for five long years. "You have guests. It’s a party, isn’t it? Don't let me keep you from your celebrations."
Patricia frantically signaled her mother with her eyes, her face pale beneath her heavy makeup. "Diego, please. Turn that off. We’re family. This is just a huge misunderstanding. Mariana... Mariana exaggerates things. She’s always had a victim complex, you know how she is."
From the doorway behind Diego, Mariana stood holding Valeria and Mateo. The two children clung to her torn dress, their eyes wide with fear as they looked at the luxurious room, the massive table piled with food they hadn't been allowed to touch, and the grandmother who had treated them like stray dogs.
"Stay there, Mariana," Diego said softly, without turning his head. "Don't take one step back. You and the children belong inside this house. More than anyone else in this room."
The doorbell rang three more times, louder and more insistent.
Diego walked past his mother and sister, his heavy boots leaving faint traces of dirt on the pristine, imported rug. He opened the massive black-and-gold double doors.
Standing on the threshold was a middle-aged man in a sharp, expensive grey suit, holding a leather briefcase. His hair was slicked back, and he wore a gold watch that caught the light of the entryway.
"Patricia, my love, why did it take you so long to open the—" The man’s voice trailed off as his eyes landed on Diego. He frowned, looking at Diego’s simple, dust-covered clothes, his worn jacket, and the suitcase sitting by the door. "Who are you? The new driver?"
Diego let out a cold, humorless chuckle. "No. I'm the man who paid for the suit you're wearing, the car you parked outside, and the house you're standing in. I'm Diego Ramírez."
The man in the suit went visibly stiff. He took a step back, his eyes darting past Diego to find Patricia, who had stepped into the hallway, her face entirely drained of color.
"Licenciado Alatorre," Patricia whispered, her voice trembling. "I... I told you not to come tonight."
"Licenciado?" Diego repeated, his eyes narrowing. He looked at the leather briefcase the lawyer was holding, then back at Patricia. "A notary. How convenient. What business does a notary have at my mother’s house on a Friday night, Patricia?"
"It’s nothing, Diego!" Doña Carmen interjected, rushing forward, her high heels clicking loudly. She tried to place a hand on Diego's arm, but he stepped back, avoiding her touch as if it were poison. "We were just... we were looking into some tax papers. For the house. You know how complicated the laws are in Mexico now. We wanted to protect your investment while you were away!"
"Protect my investment?" Diego asked, lifting his phone to capture Doña Carmen’s guilty expression and the lawyer's sudden panic. "Or were you planning to finalize the transfer of the title deeds while I was still in Texas?"
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Licenciado Alatorre swallowed hard, adjusting his silk tie. "Mr. Ramírez, I assure you, everything we are doing is perfectly legal. Your sister presented a signed power of attorney—"
"A power of attorney I never signed," Diego cut him off, his voice dropping into a register of absolute steel. "Because for the last five years, I have been working eighty hours a week in the oil fields of Midland, Texas. I haven't signed a single legal document in Mexico since the day I left. Which means whatever paper you have in that briefcase, Licenciado... is a federal forgery."
