Chapter 4 - THE RESCUE OF ROSITA
The federal police didn't waste time. Within five minutes, Vanessa was handcuffed, screaming obscenities, and dragged out through the front doors of the mansion by two female officers, her designer Chanel blazer soiled with dust and tears. Her million-dollar engagement ring was pulled off her finger right there in the foyer as evidence of fraud.
As the squad cars peeled down the driveway of Lomas de Chapultepec, absolute silence descended upon the grand estate once more.
Alejandro stood in the center of the living room, holding his dark glasses in his hand. His chest rose and fell slowly. The weight of the last three months—the grief, the deception, the constant, suffocating fear for his children—lifted off his shoulders like a leaden cloak.
He turned toward the service hallway.
“Rosita?” he called out.
His voice echoed through the empty corridors.
There was no answer.
A sudden, cold spike of panic shot through his chest. He dropped his glasses onto the coffee table and strode quickly toward the east wing, his long strides eating up the distance in seconds.
He reached the nursery.
The door was wide open.
Inside, the room was empty.
The cribs were unmade. The twin’s favorite stuffed animals lay scattered on the floor. But Diego and Santiago were gone.
And so was Rosita’s single plastic suitcase.
Alejandro’s breath hitched. He spun around, sprinting down the service stairs toward the staff quarters on the ground floor level. He threw open the door to Rosita’s small, modest room.
It was immaculate. The iron cot was made with hospital corners. A small wooden crucifix hung on the white wall next to a faded photograph of a dusty village street in Oaxaca.
On the small wooden nightstand sat a handwritten note, pinned down by a smooth river stone.
Alejandro stepped inside, his hands trembling as he lifted the note. The handwriting was neat, rounded, and filled with careful penmanship.
Señor Alejandro,
I heard the shouting from the dining room. I heard the police cars. Miss Vanessa’s friend—that lawyer man with the silver hair—came through the back gate twenty minutes before the police arrived. He had two men with him. They said Miss Vanessa ordered them to take the boys to a private facility in Puebla before the authorities could freeze the estate assets.
I tried to stop them, Señor. I fought them as best I could. But I am only one old woman with two hands. They took Diego and Santiago out through the service exit and pushed me to the floor.
I cannot let those poor babies go to such a cruel place. They don't know anyone there. They will be terrified. I took the bus schedule from the kitchen desk. I am following them to Puebla on the second-class bus that leaves at noon.
Do not worry about me, Señor. Worry about your sons.
— Rosita
Alejandro stared at the paper, the ink blurring slightly as hot tears finally broke through his control.
An old woman with two pairs of shoes, a heart of gold, and no money in her pocket had just walked out into the chaotic sprawl of Mexico City to chase down a kidnapping ring of corrupt corporate lawyers—all to protect children who weren't even her own blood.
Alejandro crumpled the note in his fist.
He didn't hesitate.
May you like
He didn't call his lawyers. He didn't call the corporate security team.
He turned around, ran back up the stairs, grabbed his car keys from the foyer table, and burst out through the front doors into the blinding midday sun.
