Chapter 2: The Collapse
1029 Words
Chapter 2: The Collapse
The wail of the siren sliced through the mid-morning traffic as the ambulance sped down Avenida Constitución toward Monterrey General Hospital. Inside, the paramedics worked swiftly, attaching sensors to Emilio’s chest, monitoring his vitals, administering oxygen. His breathing was shallow, his skin pale and clammy.
Jorge sat squeezed against the wall of the ambulance, gripping the rail as the vehicle lurched and swayed through traffic. The letter from the Ministry was still clutched in his hand. He kept glancing at Emilio’s face. His friend’s eyes were half-lidded, the effort of staying conscious visible in every strained breath.
“You’ll be fine, hermano,” Jorge said, forcing his voice steady. “You hear me? You’ve built whole cities—this is just another structure to fix.”
One of the paramedics shot him a look. “Sir, keep talking to him. It helps.”
Jorge leaned forward. “Remember the Altavista project? Everyone said it couldn’t be done. Too steep, too unstable. And what did you do? You laughed in their faces and made the hillside the most beautiful neighborhood in the city. You’re not quitting on me now.”
Emilio managed a faint, fleeting smirk before another spasm of pain crossed his face.
The ambulance pulled up to the emergency entrance. The back doors burst open, and a flurry of activity surrounded Emilio as they wheeled him into the bright, sterile corridors of the hospital. Jorge followed until a nurse blocked his way.
“Sir, you can’t go past this point. We’ll update you.”
Jorge hesitated, torn between arguing and stepping back, but he knew rules were rules in a crisis ward. “Fine. But tell the doctor his wife is on her way.”
The nurse nodded, already moving with the gurney.
---
The waiting area smelled faintly of antiseptic and overbrewed coffee. Jorge paced the length of the room, running through the situation in his head. This wasn’t just about defending Emilio’s legal rights anymore—this was about protecting him from whatever forces were trying to break him.
Fifteen minutes later, the sound of hurried heels clicking against the tile made him turn. Cynthia rushed in, her dark hair slightly disheveled, eyes wide with fear. She wore a fitted cream blouse and a pencil skirt, her elegance marred only by the panic on her face.
“Where is he? What happened?” she demanded, rushing up to Jorge.
“He’s in emergency care. It was a heart attack,” Jorge said gently. “He collapsed right after reading that letter from the Ministry.”
Cynthia’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh my God… Emilio…”
Jorge rested a hand on her shoulder. “Listen to me—he’s strong. The doctors are with him. But we need to talk. This letter—” He pulled it from his pocket and handed it to her.
She scanned the first few lines, her brow furrowing. “This… this is insane. He bought that land fair and square. I was there when the contracts were signed!”
“I know,” Jorge replied. “Which is why I think this isn’t about paperwork. Someone wants him out of the way. And they’re willing to use the Ministry to do it.”
Cynthia looked up sharply. “Do you know who?”
“Not yet,” Jorge said. “But I’ll find out.”
---
A nurse appeared at the doorway, her expression neutral but alert. “Mrs. Rodriguez? You can see him now. But only for a few minutes.”
Cynthia didn’t wait for permission twice. She hurried down the corridor, Jorge following close behind.
In the dimly lit recovery room, Emilio lay propped up on pillows, an oxygen tube resting under his nose. His face was still pale, but his eyes were open now, watching her approach.
“Mi amor…” Cynthia whispered, taking his hand.
He squeezed her fingers weakly. “You came.”
“Of course I did. You scared me half to death,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.
Jorge stood at the foot of the bed. “We’ll deal with this letter. For now, you focus on getting better. The rest can wait.”
Emilio frowned. “Jorge, you’ve known me long enough to know I don’t like waiting.”
“And I know when you don’t have a choice,” Jorge countered. “If this was some bureaucratic error, it’d be one thing. But this is personal. I could see it in the way it’s written.”
Emilio shifted slightly, wincing as the movement tugged at the monitor wires. “So… who?”
“That’s what I’m going to find out,” Jorge said. “I’ve already sent a letter to the Ministry requesting a meeting with the Director himself. If they don’t respond, I’ll show up at his office until they have to talk to me.”
Emilio’s lips twitched into a ghost of a smile. “Still stubborn, eh?”
“Always,” Jorge replied.
---
As the minutes ticked by, Cynthia mostly stayed silent, watching her husband, occasionally smoothing the sheet or brushing her fingers over his arm. Jorge noticed how she kept glancing at the letter now lying on the bedside table. Her jaw tightened each time her eyes fell on the Ministry’s seal.
When the nurse returned to usher them out, Emilio’s hand tightened around Cynthia’s. “Promise me you’ll keep an eye on him,” he said to Jorge.
“Always,” Jorge answered.
---
Back in the hallway, Cynthia stopped abruptly. “Jorge… you’ll tell me what you find out, won’t you?”
“Of course,” he said. “Why?”
She hesitated, her gaze dropping for a moment before meeting him again. “No reason. Just… something about this feels… familiar.”
Jorge raised an eyebrow. “Familiar how?”
“I don’t know,” she replied quickly. “It’s probably nothing.”
But as they stepped into the elevator, Jorge knew one thing—Cynthia was holding something back.
And whatever it was, it might be the key to the entire mess.
- Writer
