Chapter 5 - The Cathedral Anonymous
The glowing text message vanished as the federal investigator pocketed my phone, sealing it inside an evidence bag. But the words were burned into my retinas: Meet me at the Guadalajara cathedral in twenty minutes. Come alone. Don't trust the feds.
My mind raced. Saint Aurelia Clinic? That wasn't the urgent care center where we had taken Sofía earlier that afternoon. That was the exclusive private medical facility downtown—the exact clinic tied to the Morales family’s offshore shell accounts.
"Señora Morales, you’ll need to come down to the federal precinct with us to provide a formal statement," the lead investigator said, gesturing toward the open front door where Teresa was being led out in handcuffs, screaming obscenities into the cool night air.
Ricardo stood near the stucco wall, looking completely shattered, a broken man waiting for his own cuffs to click into place. He didn't look at me. He knew he had destroyed everything.
"I need to check on my daughter first," I said, keeping my voice carefully neutral. "She’s with a trusted family friend. I can’t leave her until I know she’s asleep."
"One of our agents will escort you to retrieve your child," the investigator replied firmly. "You won't be out of our sight."
Out of our sight. That destroyed any chance of slipping away to meet the anonymous texter at the cathedral. If the feds escorted me to the babysitter’s house, I would be trapped in their custody before I could find out who had sent that warning about the clinic files.
We walked out of Teresa’s house under the harsh glare of federal spotlight cruisers. The neighborhood was quiet, dark curtains twitching in neighboring windows as curious neighbors watched the matriarch of the Morales family get shoved into the back of an unmarked SUV.
As the agents guided me toward a separate cruiser, my cell phone—now locked inside the evidence bag in the front seat—vibrated once more. I couldn't see the screen, but I knew instinctively it was another message.
They’re watching you, Elena. The federal director is on Julian Vance’s payroll. If you go to the precinct, you’ll never see Sofía again.
Julian Vance. The name echoed through my head, colliding with Arthur Sterling’s warnings and the dark corporate web surrounding Ashford Hotels and the Morales trusts. It was all connected—the corruption, the shell companies, the abuse, and the stolen children.
The federal agent opened the back door of the cruiser and gestured for me to slide inside. The interior smelled of cold leather and artificial pine.
"Get in, Señora Morales."
May you like
I placed one foot on the rubber floor mat, looking up toward the dark, sprawling silhouette of the cathedral towers rising against the city skyline in the distance. Then, I looked at the agent’s holster, calculating the distance to the open courtyard gate behind us.
Just as the agent reached out to guide my shoulder inside, I slammed my heel down onto his instep, shoved him hard against the door frame, and bolted into the shadows of the neighboring hedge maze before he could even draw his weapon.
