Mauricio’s frantically dialed calls went straight to my voicemail, each unanswered ring satisfying a deep, icy rage inside me. Through the security camera feed on my tablet, I watched him aggressively pound his fist against the wrought-iron gate.
“Call her again, Mauricio!” Valeria shrieked, her perfect wedding composure completely disintegrating in the humid afternoon air. “Where are we supposed to stay? My luggage is on the dirty sidewalk!”
The guard didn’t even flinch; he simply rested his hand near his belt, signaling two more muscular private security officers to step into the driveway. Mauricio reached into his leather wallet, whipping out his platinum corporate card to try and bribe them, only for the machine to flash DECLINED in bright red text.
He tried his second card, then his third—every single line of credit I had generously provided over five years was completely dead. He was standing on the curb of Mexico City’s wealthiest district without enough liquid cash to pay for a cheap hotel room.
What was the second part of the gift I had waiting for them at my corporate office? Continue reading Part 3 below to find out.
