The masterstroke came three weeks later, on the very day that Don Arturo Garza was hosting a banquet in the main square of San Marcos to announce his candidacy for Congress. Mateo’s entire family was there, seated at the head tables. Vicente was sporting new boots made of exotic leather, and Doña Consuelo was applauding the man who had secretly ordered her son’s death.
The sound of the mariachis was violently interrupted by the roar of eight armored trucks belonging to the National Guard and the Federal Prosecutor’s Office, which surrounded the plaza.
Soldiers got out with assault rifles, blocking all the exits. The entire town fell silent.
Elena stepped out of one of the federal vehicles, dressed in an impeccable tailored suit, walking with her head held high. Beside her were lawyer Diego and two federal prosecutors.
“Arturo Garza!” boomed the chief prosecutor’s voice through a megaphone. “You are under arrest for fraud against the nation, organized crime, and masterminding homicide.”
Don Arturo tried to smile, his eyes searching for his commander, Rojas, but the policeman was already handcuffed on the floor next to the presidential chair. The chief paled when he saw the accounting books in Elena’s hands.
