Chapter 3 - The Hangover
The morning sun broke over the mountains of San Pedro, casting an amber glow through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Mateo’s penthouse apartment.
Mateo woke up with a pounding headache. His mouth tasted like ash and stale alcohol.
He sat up groggily on the leather couch in his living room. Beside him, Valeria was still asleep, draped in a silk blanket she had dragged from the master bedroom. The air in the apartment was stale, smelling of last night's party.
Mateo rubbed his face, groaning as he reached into his jacket pocket for his phone.
It wasn't there.
Then he remembered. He had tossed it onto the couch at El Cielo. He had left it there when he and Valeria took a private car back to his place at three in the morning.
“Damn it,” he muttered, standing up and swaying slightly.
He walked into the kitchen, poured a glass of cold water, and looked at the clock on the microwave.
10:45 AM.
He frowned. Camila should have been up hours ago. Usually, she was hovering around the kitchen, preparing breakfast or gently reminding him about his schedule. The silence of the apartment felt strange—almost heavy.
Then he remembered he wasn't at the mansion. He had taken Valeria to his private downtown penthouse, leaving Camila alone at the main estate.
He smirked to himself. Let her stew, he thought. She needs to learn that I control my own life. She’ll be crying on the couch at the mansion, ready to apologize for bugging me all night.
He walked over to the landline on the kitchen counter to call his driver to fetch his phone from the club.
He picked up the receiver. There was no dial tone. Just a flat, digital recording: “Service to this account has been suspended by the provider.”
Mateo frowned, slamming the receiver back down. “Useless utility companies,” he muttered.
He walked back to the sofa and nudged Valeria’s shoulder. “Hey. Wake up. Give me your phone.”
Valeria groaned, pulling the blanket over her head. “What time is it...? My phone is dead, Mateo. I forgot to charge it.”
Irritated, Mateo put on his shoes, grabbed his watch, and stepped out of the penthouse. He would take the elevator down to the garage, take his Porsche, and drive to his office to handle his day.
When he reached the garage, he clicked the key fob toward his metallic black Porsche 911.
Nothing happened. No light flashed. No beep sounded.
He clicked it again. Frustrated, he walked over to the car, pulled out the manual key blade, and unlocked the door manually. When he slid into the driver’s seat and pressed the ignition button, the dashboard flickered once and displayed a harsh red error message:
REMOTE DISABLE ACTIVE. CONTACT LEASING HOLDER.
“What the hell is going on today?!” Mateo screamed, slamming his fist against the steering wheel.
He climbed out of the car, his blood boiling. He marched out of the garage and onto the street, waving down a passing yellow taxi.
“Take me to the Holloway Building in Del Valle,” he ordered the driver, throwing a five-hundred-peso bill into the front seat.
Ten minutes later, the cab pulled up to the glass tower where Mateo’s real estate development company occupied the top two floors. Mateo stepped out, adjusting his suit jacket, trying to muster his usual air of unshakeable authority.
As he walked through the glass doors of the lobby, he noticed the security guards weren't smiling at him. They weren't stepping forward to hold the elevator.
He marched past the turnstiles and tapped his keycard against the reader.
BEEP-BEEP. Red light.
He tapped it again. Red light.
“Hey!” Mateo barked at the head guard. “What’s wrong with the scanners today? Fix this!”
The guard didn't move. He looked at Mateo with an expression that was terrifyingly neutral.
“Mr. Mateo,” the guard said slowly. “Your access privileges were revoked at six this morning.”
Mateo laughed, a nervous, jagged sound. “Revoked? I own the top two floors! I'm the Managing Director! Are you insane?”
Before the guard could answer, a man in a sharp grey suit stepped out of the private executive elevator. It was Mateo’s chief financial officer, Roberto, looking pale, disheveled, and ten years older than he had yesterday.
“Mateo,” Roberto whispered, his voice trembling. “Where have you been? Why was your phone off?”
“Roberto! Tell this idiot to let me up!” Mateo shouted, gesturing wildly. “My car isn't working, my phone is gone, and now my keycard is glitched!”
Roberto looked at Mateo with pity and terror.
“It’s not a glitch, Mateo,” Roberto said quietly, handing him a thick stack of legal documents. “At 6:00 AM, a court order was executed by the State Federal Court. All accounts associated with your firm have been frozen pending an emergency forensic audit.”
Mateo felt the air leave his lungs. “Audit? On whose authority?!”
Roberto pointed a trembling finger at the top of the legal document.
Mateo’s eyes scanned the heavy black lettering:
PLAINTIFF: VANCE CAPITAL HOLDINGS. REASON: RECOVERY OF STOLEN CORPORATE ASSETS & SYSTEMIC FRAUD.
Mateo’s hands began to shake violently. “Alejandro...? No... no, he can't do this! He moved on years ago!”
“That’s not all, Mateo,” Roberto whispered, looking around the lobby nervously. “Your primary lender, Banco Del Norte, pulled your credit facility an hour ago. They’ve called in your personal guarantee for the Santa Catarina project. If you don't post twenty million dollars in collateral by noon... you’re bankrupt.”
Mateo backed away, his head spinning, his vision tunneling. The morning heat felt like a suffocating blanket.
“Where is Camila?” Mateo gasped, his arrogant facade suddenly cracking wide open. “I... I need her to sign the emergency spousal release forms for our backup fund. Where is my wife?!”
Roberto stared at him, his mouth slightly open.
“You... you don't know?” Roberto whispered.
“Know what?!” Mateo screamed, grabbing Roberto by the lapels of his jacket. “KNOW WHAT?!”
“Mateo,” Roberto said, his voice dropping into a horrified hush. “The security team at your estate reported an emergency last night. Someone rammed your front gates with an armored truck. Your house was broken into. There was blood all over your foyer.”
Mateo’s heart slammed against his ribs like a trapped bird.
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“Camila...?”
“She’s gone, Mateo,” Roberto said softly. “Alejandro Vance took her.”
