Chapter 4 - The Imperial Inventory
The Imperial Spa and Resort was built like an old Franciscan monastery—thick walls of hand-hewn volcanic rock, heavy pine beams imported from Oregon, and central courtyards where fountains of heated mineral water bubbled into stone basins.
At 06:15 AM, the morning fog was still thick on the grass when Gabriel pulled the Dodge Ram into the valet driveway. The night valet, a young man in a heavy wool poncho, stepped out from his wooden kiosk, his face tightening as he saw the muddy, military-spec truck and the massive German Shepherd staring at him through the windshield.
"Good morning, sir," the valet said, his tone hesitant. "The resort is currently closed to non-members until eight o'clock."
Gabriel didn't look at him. He stepped out of the truck, his heavy boots making a sharp crunch on the white river gravel. He was wearing his black rescue jacket with the silver "Protección Civil" patch on the sleeve.
"I’m here for the white BMW X3, plate number UKM-442-G," Gabriel said, pointing to the covered parking pavilion fifty yards away, where Lorena’s luxury crossover sat between a Porsche Cayenne and a Land Rover.
"Sir, that vehicle belongs to a guest in Suite 12," the valet said, taking a step back as Thunder jumped down from the passenger side, his harness clicking against his ribs. "I cannot give you the keys without authorization from the front desk."
"The vehicle belongs to Mendoza Logistics," Gabriel said, sliding the digital registration title and the federal recovery order across the valet's clipboard. "And the front desk is currently receiving a notification from Fifth Third Bank regarding the credit card used to clear Suite 12. Go check your terminal, son. I’ll wait here."
Inside the main lobby, the atmosphere was already shifting from luxury serenity to administrative panic. The night manager, a sharp-featured woman with a gold nametag that read Valeria, was staring at her computer monitor while a receipt printer clattered with a rhythmic, angry screech.
"I don't understand," Valeria was saying into a telephone handset. "The pre-authorization was approved at midnight. How can the entire transaction be flagged as a domestic asset diversion? The guest is already in the thermal pool."
"Because the guest doesn't have thirty thousand pesos," Gabriel’s voice boomed through the empty stone lobby as he stepped through the archway, Thunder walking at his heel with perfect heel-discipline.
Valeria dropped the phone. Her hand went instinctively toward the silent alarm under the desk. "Sir, you cannot bring an animal into the reception area. This is a five-star facility."
"My name is Gabriel Mendoza," he said, placing his federal ID card flat on the polished granite desk. "The woman in Suite 12 is my wife. Or rather, she was until she abandoned a seven-year-old child and a six-month-old infant in a locked house without food for fourteen hours. The money she used to check into this hotel is currently subject to a federal forfeiture order issued by the state prosecutor's office in Querétaro."
The manager’s face went entirely slack. The gold nametag on her blouse trembled slightly. "Mr. Mendoza... we... we are a private company. We don't want any trouble with the military or the state."
"Then don't make any," Gabriel said. "Print out the internal room charges. Every peso she spent on massages, champagne, and skin treatments will be added to the criminal indictment for family abandonment and theft. And then you're going to send your security guard up to Suite 12 to tell her she has five minutes to vacate the property before the federal units arrive at the gate."
Valeria’s fingers flew across the keyboard. The printer spit out three long pages of white paper—a detailed ledger of Lorena’s indulgence while her stepdaughter was developing spinal damage from the weight of her brother.
Aromatherapy: $4,500. Veuve Clicquot Champagne: $6,200. Caviar Facial Treatment: $8,900.
May you like
Gabriel read the list. His face remained as flat and unyielding as the stone floor beneath his feet.
"She has good taste," Gabriel said, folding the paper and tucking it into his jacket pocket. "Let’s go see if she likes the breakfast they serve in the state penitentiary."
