The scandal in Lomas de Chapultepec quickly made the evening news. Cameras captured the exact moment when agents from the Attorney General's Office were removing boxes and computers from Rodrigo Salazar's mansion. The neighbors, the same ones who just days before had been toasting with champagne at his parties, now watched from behind their curtains with a mixture of morbid curiosity and contempt. In Mexico, the downfall of a "nouveau riche" is a favorite pastime of high society.
Rodrigo managed to avoid pretrial detention thanks to a last-minute injunction that cost him what little cash he had left and a collector's watch, but the damage was done. The bank had seized his house. His accounts were empty. His associates had disappeared or were testifying against him.
Three days after the raid, the final order arrived: Immediate eviction.
"You can't do this to me!" Rodrigo shouted from the doorway, struggling with the movers who were carrying his Italian-designed furniture out onto the sidewalk. "I'm Rodrigo Salazar! You don't know who you're messing with!"
A court clerk, a short man with glasses and a stern face, didn't even look at him. "Sir, you have ten minutes to remove your belongings or they'll stay inside. The property will be transferred to the bank. Sign here or I'll call the police."
Carolina sat on the bench, atop a Louis Vuitton suitcase that now looked ridiculous amidst the tragedy. She wept silently, without makeup, her hair dirty. She looked so small, so fragile. "Rodrigo... let's go now, please... people are watching," she pleaded.
He turned around, his eyes blazing with hatred. "Shut up! This is all your fault! You're the one who set me up! Ever since we kicked your mother out, everything's gone to hell!"
