Chapter 5 - The Collapse of the Dynasty
By January 10th, 2026, the Sterling family name had become toxic in the financial pages of El Economista. The investigation into Vance Logistics and its phantom providers had expanded, pulling in three of Don Ernesto’s old political associates who had helped clear the customs permits for the Veracruz shipments.
I sat in my new office at the Santa Fe tower, looking at the quarterly performance reports. Without the forty-two million peso drain from Mauricio’s fake invoices, our operational margin had increased by twelve percent in less than three weeks. The numbers were clean, beautiful, and entirely mine.
The glass door opened, and Ximena walked in.
She didn't have her designer sunglasses, and she wasn't recording an Instagram story. She wore a simple denim jacket and black leggings, her hair tied back in a dry ponytail. She looked twenty years older than she had on Christmas Eve, her hands trembling as she held a small paper folder.
"Valeria," she said, her voice dropping into a small, pathetic whisper that I had never heard from her before. "Please. The security guards down downstairs wouldn't let me up, but I told them I was your sister."
"You are not my sister, Ximena," I said, not looking up from my monitor. "You are the woman who recorded her father burning a pregnant woman while smiling at the camera. What do you want?"
"They’re taking the house in Veracruz," she sobbed, dropping to her knees beside my desk, her fingers grabbing the edge of the wood. "The SAT issued a asset seizure notice on Mom’s property yesterday. They said the house was bought with funds transferred from the Swiss account. We don't have anywhere to go, Valeria. Mom is staying with an aunt in a studio apartment in Iztapalapa. She’s sick. Her blood pressure is out of control."
"She should have thought about her blood pressure before she watched her husband assault the mother of her future grandson," I said, turning my chair to face her. "What’s in the folder, Ximena?"
"It’s the title to Mauricio’s SUV," she said, lifting the papers with trembling hands. "The one you paid for. We... we managed to hide it from the fiscal registry because it was under a secondary corporate name. We want to give it back to you. If you accept the car, can you please tell your lawyers to withdraw the domestic violence complaint against Dad? The judge said that because of his age, if the primary victim signs a mitigation agreement, he can serve his time under house arrest instead of the Reclusorio."
I looked down at the title document. The car was worth eight hundred thousand pesos—a fraction of what they had stolen from my company, a fraction of the peace of mind they had taken from my pregnancy.
"Keep the car, Ximena," I said gently, my voice flat. "You’re going to need it to drive to the prison on visiting days."
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"Valeria, please!" she screamed, her face twisting in despair as two security guards entered the office behind her, their hands resting firmly on her shoulders to lift her from the floor. "We’re family! The baby is a Sterling! You can't let his grandfather die in a concrete cell!"
"My son is a Robles," I said, looking back at my screen as the guards guided her out of the room, her cries fading down the long, carpeted hallway of the executive suite. "And his family is already complete."
