Chapter 2 - The Morning of the Eviction
At 8:00 AM on Christmas Day, the streets of Polanco were ghostly quiet. The usual traffic on Campos Elíseos was gone, replaced by the soft rustle of jacaranda leaves in the morning breeze. But outside my apartment building, a white sedan belonging to Alejandro’s legal agency was already parked at the curb, its hazard lights blinking.
I hadn't slept. I sat in the passenger seat of my car across the street, holding a cardboard cup of black coffee that tasted like ash. Beside me, two private security guards I had hired through my company's corporate contractor sat silently, their radios humming with static.
"They haven't left the building, Miss Robles," the lead guard, a man named Castillo, said. "The concierge confirms that the family spent the night in the apartment. There was a delivery of food from a convenience store around 3:00 AM, but no other movement."
"They don't think I’ll actually do it," I said, watching the fourth-floor windows. "They think this is just another tantrum. They think by tonight, I’ll come back with my head down, apologizing for ruining their Christmas."
"The court order is digital, signed by the duty judge at the Superior Court of Justice," Alejandro said over my car’s Bluetooth system. "The police detail is arriving now. Since there is an active investigation into domestic violence from last night, the eviction is an immediate protective measure. They have exactly twenty minutes to clear their personal belongings."
Two blue-and-white police pickups pulled up to the entrance. The officers stepped out, their heavy boots echoing on the concrete as they entered the lobby. I got out of my car, ignoring the dull ache in my back and the sharp sting of the bandage against my stomach, and followed them into the elevator.
When the doors opened on the fourth floor, the hallway smelled faintly of sour punch and stale tobacco. The lock on my front door was electronic; I changed the access code from my phone as we stood there. The keyless pad flashed red, then green, and Castillo pushed the heavy wooden door open.
The living room was a disaster. The white sofa I had worked three months to pay for was stained with dark red romerito sauce. Empty beer bottles and a half-empty bottle of Buchanan's sat on the glass coffee table. Mauricio was asleep on the floor, wrapped in a blanket from the guest room, his face pale and greasy.
Doña Teresa was sitting at the kitchen island, wearing a silk robe that I had bought her for her birthday last year, her face pale and haggard without her usual makeup.
"What is the meaning of this?" she shrieked, jumping up as the police officers walked into the space. "Mauricio! Wake up! The police are here! Valeria brought the police!"
Mauricio scrambled to his feet, his eyes bloodshot, his hair sticking up in wild angles. He looked at me, then at the officers, his old expression of arrogant superiority instantly surfacing. "Valeria, have you lost your mind? You can't just bring people into my house in the middle of the morning! Get them out of here!"
"It’s not your house, Mauricio," I said, my voice dropping into that cold, professional tone I used when terminating a bad vendor contract at work. "The property is mine. The officers are here to execute an emergency protection order. You, your mother, your sister, and your father have twenty minutes to pack whatever fits into your suitcases and leave."
"You can't evict us!" Don Ernesto’s voice boomed from the master bedroom. He walked out, wearing his trousers from the night before but no shoes. His chest was expanded, his red face twisting in fury. "I am the head of this family! You are a hysterical little girl! Mauricio, put your wife in her place right now!"
"Don Ernesto," the police captain said, stepping between the old man and me, his hand resting firmly on the handle of his baton. "You are the primary subject of a criminal complaint for aggravated assault and domestic violence filed at midnight. If you take one more step toward this woman, you will not be leaving this building in a taxi. You will be leaving in the back of my unit."
Don Ernesto froze. The absolute certainty in the officer’s voice seemed to crack the old man’s armor for the first time. He looked at Mauricio, expecting his son to protect his pride.
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But Mauricio was looking at his phone. His fingers were shaking as he tried to open his banking app. "Valeria... my accounts. The corporate card is blocked. The personal backup card is declined. I can't even transfer money to pay the cellular bill."
"Everything is blocked, Mauricio," I said, walking to the window and looking out at the beautiful Polanco skyline. "The car you drive, the club you belong to, the lifestyle your family has been parading on Instagram—it’s all over. You have nineteen minutes left. I suggest you start with your shoes."
