Chapter 6 - The True Value of a Home
One year later, the social magazines of Monterrey and Mexico City were still talking about the historic fall of the Alcázar empire. The corporate offices of Altius Logistics had been sold off to international buyers, and the names of the family members had been completely erased from the high-society guest lists of San Pedro Garza García.
But inside the mansion in Bosques de las Lomas, no one was looking at the magazines.
The afternoon sun was warm and golden as it swept across the Narragansett-style terrace that Alejandro had built overlooking the valley. The scent of white roses filled the air, but this time, the flowers weren't for an editor’s camera—they were for a real celebration.
A long table had been set up on the grass, large enough to seat thirty people. Sitting around it were the drivers, the logistics operators, the warehouse mechanics, and their families, all laughing and talking over large platters of grilled meat, fresh tortillas, and traditional northern chicken and rice—the exact same food that had once been thrown into the trash.
Alejandro stood at the head of the table, a glass of fresh lemonade in his hand, his face bright and relaxed as he watched his employees share a meal in his garden.
Beside him stood Teresa, wearing a beautiful, simple blue dress, her hair cut into a modern, elegant style. She was no longer holding a mop; she was holding a clipboard containing the distribution manifests for the Ferrer Foundation’s new educational scholarship program, which she now managed as the director of internal relations.
"Look, Mr. Alejandro," Teresa smiled, pointing toward the center of the lawn.
Down on the grass, four-year-old Camila was running through the sprinklers, her bright laughter echoing across the estate. She was wearing a beautiful yellow sun dress, her little stuffed rabbit sitting safely on a dry velvet chair nearby, watching her play.
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She wasn't locked in the service wing. She wasn't hiding in the laundry room. She was running under the open sky, her feet leaving wet, happy footprints on marble steps that were finally being used for exactly what they were worth—not as a monument to arrogance, but as the steady, unbreakable foundation of a home built on justice, respect, and the quiet, permanent triumph of the good.
Alejandro clinked his glass, lifting it toward the sun as his drivers raised their voices in a cheer that drowned out the distant hum of the city below. The cameras were still running in the corners of the estate, but they were no longer looking for thieves in the dark. They were simply recording the light.
