Chapter 4 - The House of Cards CollapsesThe sirens grew louder, their red and blue lights painting frantic patterns across the snow-covered pine trees outside the iron gates.
For the guests trapped inside the grand ballroom, the illusion of elite untouchability had officially evaporated. Several prominent businessmen and local politicians quietly slipped toward the side exits, only to find the doors blocked by impassive men in dark coats who offered a single, polite instruction: “Please remain until federal authorities arrive.”
Arthur Vance slumped into a velvet armchair, his arrogant demeanor completely shattered. The great land speculator, the man who had bribed mayors and ruined competitors with a stroke of a pen, looked suddenly small, old, and pathetic.
Renata knelt beside him, her manicured fingers clawing desperately at his sleeve. “Daddy, do something! Call our lawyers! Tell them we have immunity, tell them—'
“There is no immunity, Renata,” Arthur muttered, staring blankly at the polished floorboards. He didn't look at his daughter; he didn't look at the guests whispering in horror around them. He looked only at me, standing ten feet away with my hands resting quietly in my pockets. “You don't understand... you don't cross him. My father told me stories about El Caminante when I was a boy. Men like that don't lose wars. They just wait until you build a tall enough tower so they can watch you fall.”
I didn't answer him. I turned my attention to Sebastián, who was breathing heavily, his face pale from exhaustion and pain.
“Can you walk, son?” I asked softly.
“With your help, Dad,” Sebastián murmured, gripping my shoulder tighter.
“Let’s get you to an ambulance. The medics are waiting at the front gate.”
As we turned to leave the ballroom, Renata scrambled across the floor, her crimson dress tangling around her legs, and grabbed the hem of my worn wool jacket. Her face was stained with mascara tears, her haughty glamour entirely stripped away.
“Please,” she begged, her voice cracking into a desperate whine. “Please don't ruin us. We can negotiate! We can give Sebastián back everything—the transport company, the accounts, the houses! Just... don't destroy us.”
I looked down at her—not with anger, but with a profound, chilling indifference.
“You didn't negotiate when you chained my son to a pillar and shattered his knee,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “You didn't show mercy when you planned to poison him and bury him as an overdose on New Year’s Eve. I’m not going to kill you, Renata. In our world, death is sometimes an easy way out.”
I pulled my jacket free from her grip with a gentle tug.
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“I’m simply going to take away every single dollar, every alliance, every title, and every illusion of safety that made you feel like you were allowed to prey on my family. Enjoy the poverty, Renata. It’s a very educational experience.”
We walked out of the grand ballroom, leaving the weeping woman on the floor and her father broken in his armchair, while behind us, the heavy oak doors opened wide to the flashing red lights of the law enforcement convoy.
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