Chapter 6 - The Fall of the Prodigal Daughter
By Tuesday morning, the scandal had metastasized across the elite social circles of Mexico City like wildfire.
High society in the capital was an echo chamber; news of insolvency traveled faster than light. By breakfast, word had spread from the dining rooms of Bosques de las Lomas to the corporate towers of Reforma: *Desarrollos Salas* was on the brink of financial collapse, and the glamorous Salas family was entirely hollow.
In the master suite of the Lomas mansion, Camila sat curled on her velvet armchair, staring at her phone screen in horror.
Her Instagram account, which had boasted eighty thousand followers enamored by her lavish lifestyle of weekend trips to Vail, designer unboxings, and VIP access, had become a digital war zone.
A high-profile fashion blog had just published an exposé titled: *The Illusion of Wealth: How a Prominent Socialite’s Designer Wardrobe Was Bankrolled on Stolen Corporate Credit.*
Brands that had sent her PR packages began demanding their merchandise back. Former friends had already unfollowed her. But the fatal blow came at eleven o'clock, when Adrián Rivas’s personal assistant arrived at the front gate.
The assistant didn't ask to come inside. He handed the butler a flat wooden box and a sealed letter addressed to Camila.
Inside the box was the emerald promise ring Adrián had given her two months prior.
The letter was short, written on heavy Rivas Group letterhead:
> *Camila,*
> *My father has instructed our legal team to terminate all personal and professional ties with your family. Your behavior on Sunday was repulsive, but your financial deceit is unforgivable. Do not contact me, do not visit our offices, and do not attempt to reach my mother. We value integrity above all else. Clearly, you possess none.*
> *— Adrián.*
Camila dropped the box onto the Persian rug. The emerald clattered against the hardwood floor.
A high, ragged shriek tore from her throat. She dropped to her knees, ripping at her own hair, sobbing violently. "No! No, no, no! This isn't happening!"
Downstairs, the front door slammed open. Rodrigo walked in, looking like a ghost. His eyes were hollow, his clothes rumpled from spending the night pacing the streets around Santa Fe after security had barred him from returning to their duplex.
Teresa rushed into the foyer, her face haggard, her pearl necklace missing. "Rodrigo! Did you fix it? Did she sign?"
Rodrigo looked at his mother with vacant eyes. He dropped the white divorce papers onto the entry table beside a crystal vase.
"She’s divorcing me, Mother. She froze every account. She’s taking everything."
Teresa gasped, clutching her chest as if she had suffered a physical blow. "She can't! We took her in! We gave her a family! I let her cook in my kitchen!"
"You made her an unpaid servant, Mother!" Rodrigo suddenly exploded, all the terror and guilt within him erupting into pure, unadulterated fury. "You treated her like garbage! Camila treated her like a dog! And I... I was too stupid, too proud to stop it! You told me she was beneath me! You kept telling me I deserved a woman with high-society blood!"
"Don't you dare raise your voice to me!" Teresa shrieked back. "I did what any mother would do! I protected our status!"
"What status?!" Esteban’s voice boomed from the top of the sweeping marble staircase.
Esteban descended the stairs slowly, looking like a condemned prisoner walking to the gallows. He held an official legal dispatch bearing the red seal of the Mexico City Commercial Court.
"What is that?" Teresa whispered, trembling.
"The pre-foreclosure notice," Esteban said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "The bridge loan matures in thirty-six hours. Arista has officially notified our syndicate partners that they are declaring cross-default. Every subcontractor on the Guadalajara mall has walked off the job. The union has picketed the site. And because I pledged this house as secondary collateral two years ago to secure the mezzanine tranche... the court will issue an eviction order by the end of the month."
Teresa swayed on her feet. Her hands fluttered wildly before she collapsed backward onto the antique settee, gasping for breath. "My house? Not my house! My grandfather built this estate! My father lived here! You cannot let them take my home!"
"Then find forty-eight million dollars, Mother!" Esteban shouted, his face purple with rage. "Go down to the bank and show them your family crest! See if the teller accepts your aristocratic blood to settle a sovereign default!"
Camila stumbled down the stairs, her face bloated and red from tears. "Esteban... please. Call Valeria. Tell her I’ll apologize! I'll get on my knees! I'll let her pour beer on my head in front of everyone! Just tell her to give me my fellowship back! Adrián left me!"
Esteban looked at his sister with utter, undiluted disgust.
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"She wouldn't cross the street to spit on you if you were on fire, Camila," he said flatly. "You wanted to wash away her sour attitude? Congratulations. You washed away our entire existence."
***
