Chapter 4: The Confrontation
979 Words
The Ministry of Urban Development was an imposing glass-and-steel building in the heart of Monterrey’s government district. Its mirrored facade reflected the blazing afternoon sun, giving the impression of a fortress of light—cold, unyielding, and designed to intimidate.
Jorge parked his black SUV in front of the building, grabbed his leather briefcase, and stepped onto the curb. He wasn’t dressed like a man looking for a polite conversation. His dark suit was immaculate, his tie a crisp navy, his polished shoes clicking sharply against the marble floor as he walked through the main entrance.
Inside, the lobby was cavernous, the air-conditioning a sharp contrast to the sweltering heat outside. Government employees bustled from one office to another, heels and loafers echoing off the stone walls. The Ministry seal—an intricate emblem of gears, towers, and wheat—dominated the wall behind the reception desk.
The receptionist, a young man with rimless glasses, looked up. “Can I help you, sir?”
“Yes,” Jorge said, pulling out a business card and sliding it across the desk. “Attorney Jorge Benitez. I’m here to see the Director.”
The man blinked. “Do you have an appointment?”
“No,” Jorge replied, his voice firm. “But I have a matter of urgent legal importance that directly concerns him. I suggest you tell him that before you decide whether or not to turn me away.”
The receptionist hesitated, sensing the steel in Jorge’s tone. “One moment.” He picked up the phone, murmured something, then glanced up at Jorge again. “The Director is in a meeting. You’ll have to wait.”
Jorge checked his watch. “I’ll wait. But tell him this: If I walk out of this building without speaking to him, the next time he sees me will be in court—along with a half-dozen journalists.”
The message was delivered. The receptionist looked uneasy. “Please, take a seat.”
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Thirty minutes later, a tall man in an impeccably tailored gray suit appeared from the corridor behind the desk. His hair was silver at the temples, his smile warm but calculated.
“Señor Benitez,” the man said smoothly. “I’m Director Mendez Fuentes. I hear you have something urgent to discuss.”
Jorge rose to meet him, gripping the man’s handshake firmly. “I do. It concerns my client, Engineer Emilio Rodriguez, and the illegal revocation of his construction permits.”
Mendez’s eyes flickered, though his smile didn’t waver. “Ah, yes. I’m aware of the case.”
“Good,” Jorge said. “Then you know it’s based on false pretenses. The land was purchased legally. The contracts are clean. The surveyor’s reports are certified. And yet, your Ministry claims otherwise without a shred of legitimate evidence.”
Mendez gestured toward a set of double doors. “Perhaps we should discuss this in my office.”
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The Director’s office was large and opulently furnished—mahogany desk, leather chairs, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. A shelf behind the desk displayed awards, framed photographs, and what appeared to be a ceremonial dagger encased in glass.
Mendez motioned for Jorge to sit. “I can understand your frustration, Señor Benitez. But the Ministry operates under strict guidelines. If a project is flagged for irregularities, we must act accordingly.”
Jorge set his briefcase on his lap, flipping it open. “You mean if someone with influence decides they don’t like the man building it.” He pulled out a folder and slid it across the desk. “This is every document related to the land acquisition, environmental clearances, and construction plans. All in order. So I’ll ask again—what exactly triggered this so-called investigation?”
Mendez opened the folder casually, glancing at the first page before closing it again. “I’m afraid that information is confidential.”
“Confidential to whom?” Jorge pressed. “The people of Monterrey? My client? Or just the person pulling your strings?”
For the first time, Mendez’s smile faltered. “Careful, Señor Benitez.”
“No,” Jorge said, leaning forward, his voice low and deliberate. “You be careful. Because I’ve seen this play before. Someone with money and a grudge whispers in the right ear, and suddenly my client’s life’s work is on the line. I don’t care if that someone is a competitor, a politician, or—” he glanced pointedly at the photographs on the shelf “—a personal acquaintance.”
Mendez’s eyes hardened. “You’re making dangerous accusations.”
“I’m stating facts,” Jorge countered. “And unless you rescind that letter within forty-eight hours, I will file a motion in federal court to subpoena every internal communication your Ministry has sent about Emilio Rodriguez. Every memo, every email, every text. And I promise you, Director—whatever you’re trying to hide will come out.”
The room was tense, the hum of the air conditioning suddenly loud. Mendez stood slowly, walking to the window.
“You’re a bold man, Benitez,” he said without turning. “But boldness can be… costly.”
“Not as costly as corruption,” Jorge shot back. “And I’m not afraid of men who hide behind titles.”
Mendez finally turned, his expression cool again. “Very well. I’ll review the matter personally. But until then, the revocation stands.”
Jorge rose, gathering his papers. “Then I’ll see you in court.”
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As Jorge stepped out into the blazing afternoon light, he knew one thing for certain—Mendez Fuentes wasn’t acting out of bureaucratic duty. There was something personal in his tone, something sharp and dangerous lurking beneath the civility.
And if Jorge was right, Emilio’s enemy wasn’t just some faceless official.
It was the man at the very top.
- Writer
