PART 3: THE NORTHSIDE CONSPIRACY
PART 3: THE NORTHSIDE CONSPIRACY
The drive to the Northside clinic was a descent from the gilded luxury of the Reforma district into the harsh, concrete reality of Mexico City’s working-class sectors. The rain began to fall in heavy sheets, streaking the bulletproof windows of the SUV as Victor held his daughter tight against his chest, refusing to let her go.
The clinic smelled of cheap disinfectant, old floor wax, and the heavy iron scent of generic medicine. In a small, cramped ward partitioned by yellowed plastic curtains, Catherine Williams lay on a narrow cot. Her face was hollow, her eyes sunken from malnutrition and the aggressive progression of her autoimmune disease, her skin almost transparent under the flickering fluorescent light.
When the curtain was pulled back, Catherine’s eyes widened in sudden, defensive terror, her instinct to protect her daughter overriding her physical weakness. "Annie... get away from him..."
"Catherine, look at me," Victor said, dropping to his knees beside the bed, his expensive watch catching the harsh light. He took her fragile, trembling hand, his voice breaking completely. "I know the truth. I know about the letter. I know about Maris."
Catherine stared at him, her lips parting in slow, agonizing disbelief as she looked from Victor’s ruined suit to Brian Smith standing guard at the door. "You... you didn't send the eviction notices?"
"My mother intercepted every single dollar, Catherine," Victor choked out, tears finally spilling over his eyelids. "She forged the divorce decree using an old corporate notary we employed in Silverspring. She threatened to liquidate your father's remaining medical trust if you ever tried to contact me. I spent three years believing you hated me, while she was starving you in the dark."
Catherine’s shoulders slumped as a deep, shuddering sob escaped her chest, the weight of a three-year nightmare finally lifting from her frame. "She told me you were building a new life with someone else... she said if I came near the plaza, your security team would have me deported."
Victor turned to Brian, his face hardening into an expression of cold, absolute corporate execution. "Call the private medical transport team from ABC Santa Fe. Move Catherine to the executive wing under a pseudonym. I want the best specialists in the country in her room within an hour."
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"And the Williams Holdings board meeting tomorrow morning, sir?" Brian asked.
"Tell the directors to assemble at 8:00 AM," Victor said, his fingers tightening around his wife's hand. "My mother wanted to play a high-stakes game with my family's survival. Tomorrow, I'm going to show her what happens when the majority shareholder liquidates the asset."
