Chapter 6 - The Ashes of Ruta Norte-6-
The next month was a blur of depositions, forensic audits, and legal maneuvering. My lawyer, a shark named Marcus who thrived on chaos, kept the vultures at bay, but the damage was undeniable. Ruta Norte Logistics was effectively liquidated. The government seized the assets, the contracts were transferred to competitors, and my reputation—the one I had spent fifteen years building—was dragged through the mud.
Alejandro was facing a litany of charges, ranging from corporate espionage to conspiracy to commit wire fraud. Teresa, meanwhile, had posted bail with money that we hadn't known she had and was currently undergoing a mental health evaluation that Marcus assured me was just a stalling tactic.
I was living in a small, rented apartment in the outskirts of the city, a place where no one knew my name. I didn't have the luxury sedan, the security detail, or the prestige. I had a laptop, a few boxes of personal effects, and the truth.
One afternoon, a package arrived at my door. No return address. Just my name, written in elegant, archaic script.
I opened it carefully. Inside was a ledger. It looked old, the leather cracked with age. I turned the page and froze. It was a list of names. My father’s name was at the top, along with the names of every board member who had presided over the Sterling-Reyes lawsuit in 1996.
Beside each name was a red mark.
I flipped through the pages. It was a history of the conflict—not just the business dispute, but the personal vendettas, the bribes, the subtle orchestrations of destruction. It was the "Reyes Legacy" Teresa had talked about, but it wasn't a business plan. It was a death toll.
Teresa wasn't just a mother-in-law trying to steal a company. She was a cultist, a member of a group that believed in the absolute, total erasure of the Sterling bloodline.
I felt a chill. The threat hadn't ended with the liquidation. It had just moved into the shadows.
I looked at the ledger, then at the window. I felt watched. Not by the SUVs, not by the cartel, but by something more ancient, more persistent.
I called Marcus. "I need you to find out who held this ledger before it was sent to me. I need to know every name in this book."
"Elena is already on it," he said. "She says it’s encrypted with a cipher that hasn't been used in thirty years. It’s an old-school intelligence code."
"Where did she find that?"
"She didn't find it. The ledger came with a note. 'The harvest is ready'."
The harvest. The word triggered a memory. Arthur, my late husband—not Alejandro, but the man I had loved before—used to talk about the harvest. He was an orchardist, a quiet man who kept to himself, but he always talked about the cycle of decay and growth.
I had been so focused on Ruta Norte that I had forgotten the man who had been my foundation. Arthur didn't die of a heart attack; he died of a sudden, unexplained illness that the doctors never diagnosed.
Teresa had known Arthur. She had been a guest at our wedding. She had been the one who had brought the bouquet—the one I had thrown in the trash when I realized it was wilting in an unnatural, sickly way.
My hands began to shake. It wasn't just about the company. It was about the Sterling family. I was the last one left.
May you like
"Marcus," I said, my voice trembling. "Get out of your office. Now. The harvest isn't about business. It's about blood."
I hung up, grabbed my coat, and started running. I didn't know where to go, but I knew that staying in that apartment was a death sentence. The game had evolved into something much darker than I could have ever imagined.
