Chapter 7 - The Workshop Lockup
Rain began to fall in heavy, dark sheets as I unlocked the heavy iron padlock on my workshop's side door.
The smell of motor oil, hot iron, and old sawdust hit my nostrils—the familiar scents of my whole working life. For forty years, this small building had provided honest bread for my family. The idea that Mauricio had used my sanctuary to hide his dirty crime made my stomach turn.
Daniela, Patricia, and Hector followed me inside, shaking the rain from their coats.
I walked past the heavy metal lathes and welding stations to the back storage room—a reinforced steel cage where I kept high-precision brass fittings and expensive titanium tools.
"In the back corner," Daniela pointed, her voice trembling. "Behind the spare motor housings."
I moved two heavy cast-iron engine blocks out of the way. Stashed beneath a grease-stained canvas tarp sat two black, heavy-duty waterproof Pelican cases fitted with dual combination locks.
Hector knelt beside the cases, examining the reinforced latches. "High-security digital keypad locks. Daniela, do you know the combination?"
"No," Daniela shook her head. "He didn't give it to me. He just brought them over in his trunk."
"We don't have time to crack a digital code," Hector said, checking his watch. "The bail hearing is at nine o'clock tomorrow morning."
I picked up a pair of safety goggles from my workbench and put them on. Then I walked over to the heavy-duty angle grinder mounted on the wall, plugging it into the 220-volt power outlet.
"Stand back," I told them.
I squeezed the trigger. The grinder roared to life with a high-pitched, deafening scream, throwing brilliant shower arcs of blue and orange sparks across the concrete floor.
I pressed the diamond-tipped cutting wheel directly into the reinforced steel hinges of the first case. The smell of burning polymer and hot metal filled the workshop. In less than two minutes, the steel hinges buckled and snapped under the heat and pressure.
I shut off the grinder and used a heavy crowbar to pry open the melted plastic lid.
Patricia let out a sharp gasp.
Inside the case were neatly stacked, vacuum-sealed bricks of cash—stacks of five-hundred-peso notes bearing bank bands, alongside three black leather-bound ledgers and a set of stamped architectural blueprints.
Hector reached in with gloved hands, pulling out the top ledger. He flipped through the pages, his eyes lighting up with shock.
"It's not just money," Hector breathed. "This is Mauricio's master ledger of illegal payoffs. It lists dates, cash amounts, and the names of three municipal inspectors—including Chief Inspector Roberto Gomez."
"Look at the blueprints," Daniela pointed out, unfolding the heavy paper across a workbench.
Red ink marks covered the foundation diagrams of Valdez Plaza. A hand-written engineering report was attached to the front, stamped with the word: REJECTED - CRITICAL STRUCTURAL FAILURE RISK.
Underneath the report was a signed agreement between Mauricio and Chief Inspector Gomez, promising a monthly payout of two hundred thousand pesos to suppress the structural failure report and issue a fake occupancy permit.
"He hid it here," I realized, anger burning in my chest. "If the state authorities ever raided his office or apartment, they would find nothing. And if the building ever failed, the physical evidence of the bribe was sitting inside my workshop. He was going to frame me as his illegal accomplice!"
"This isn't just financial fraud anymore," Hector said, looking at me with dead seriousness. "This is organized crime and public endangerment. Mauricio and his attorney are going to prison for a very long time."
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I closed the lid of the case and looked at my daughter.
"Take pictures of everything," I told her. "We're giving the press their story."
