Chapter 11: Crossroads
441 Words
The lights of Gran Santiago glimmered like stars — but from the top floor of Tredy’s private office, they looked like chess pieces.
He stood in front of the glass wall, arms crossed, as Atty. Vasquez briefed him.
“We’ve secured silent interest in four more properties under Villaridge’s Phase 3 blueprint. Their access roads are now in our control.”
Tredy nodded. “What about their financing?”
“Two partner banks are already under review for irregularities. All we need is one more block — then their expansion halts completely.”
Tredy turned, voice cold but focused. “Do it.”
This wasn’t personal anymore. It was tactical.
He didn’t just want revenge.
He wanted control.
---
Elsewhere, Leira Mendez sat in her condo, her laptop open to a genealogy database.
> “Don Emerico Sales,” she whispered. “Founder of Sales Holdings. Declared dead over a decade ago… no known heirs.”
She dug deeper.
Photos were scarce. Mentions of a long-lost grandson. A scandal with the board. Then silence.
But then she found it — a scanned record from an old newspaper archive:
> “Don Emerico’s only grandson, presumed to have been raised in secret after a family falling out…”
The timestamp: exactly 20 years ago.
Her heart raced.
> “Tredy isn’t just rich. He’s legacy rich.”
She leaned back in her chair, breath shallow.
What had she gotten herself into?
---
In a dim parking garage beneath a casino hotel, Marco Villanueva lit a cigarette with shaking hands.
He looked up as a man approached — slick suit, dark eyes, a scar running down his left cheek.
Ramon Cordero.
Fixer. Enforcer. Shadow.
“I thought you were done with me,” the man said.
Marco flicked ash onto the ground. “I need help.”
Ramon smirked. “That’s not something Villanuevas are known to say.”
Marco’s eyes burned. “This guy — Tredy Sales — he’s destroying us. And he’s doing it legally. I want him exposed. I want him humiliated.”
Ramon leaned in. “You don’t pay me to humiliate people. You pay me to ruin them.”
Marco hesitated.
Then nodded.
“I’ll pay whatever it takes.”
---
Back at the office, Tredy stared at a photo of Don Emerico, framed on his desk. The man’s cold, proud eyes were frozen in time.
> “You always said I had to earn the right to carry your name,” he thought.
He closed his eyes.
It wasn’t about proving anything to the world.
It was about finishing what his grandfather started.
---
© Treloce Amaris
- Writer
