Chapter 5 - The War for Coyoacán
Despite Mónica and Rodrigo’s arrests, the battle was far from over.
The next morning, Gabriel met me at the Public Registry of Property in downtown Mexico City. The bureaucratic nightmare of Mexican real estate law meant that even though the perpetrators were in holding cells, the fraudulent deed transferring the 6.4 million peso Coyoacán property to Grupo Inmobiliario Trejo-Salgado was still officially logged in the system.
"Notary Trejo pulled strings before his arrest warrants were finalized," Gabriel explained as we walked through the crowded stone corridors of the courthouse. "He filed an expedited registration. If we don't secure an emergency lis pendens—a preventive annotation—from a judge within forty-eight hours, Salgado's corrupt business partners can legally flip the land to an innocent third-party buyer."
"If an innocent third party buys it, we lose the property forever," I said, my jaw clenching.
"Exactly," Gabriel said grimly. "And Trejo’s high-priced legal team has just submitted a petition to Judge Vargas—a notoriously conservative magistrate—claiming that Doña Amalia was fully conscious and acted of her own free will when she granted the power of attorney."
"I want to see Judge Vargas," I said. "And I want to bring Doña Amalia's medical files."
Two hours later, we stood inside the formal chambers of Judge Vargas. The room smelled of old paper and leather-bound law books. Sitting across from us was Licenciado Trejo’s defense lawyer, a slimy, silver-haired man named Velasco, who smiled at me as if I were nothing more than an insect.
"Your Honor," Velasco argued smoothly, placing a stack of stamped papers on the judge's desk. "My client, Notary Trejo, performed his public duty in good faith. We have a signed power of attorney from Doña Amalia, complete with her official thumbprint and two independent witness signatures. The allegation of coercion is merely a desperate family feud fueled by my client's husband, who wants to control his mother's wealth."
Judge Vargas peered over his spectacles at me. "Mr. Mateo, the law relies on formal documentation. Do you have physical proof that your mother was incapacitated at the exact hour this thumbprint was taken?"
I stepped forward, laying a thick black binder on the desk.
"This is the official forensic toxicology report from Hospital Ángeles, Your Honor," I stated firmly. "Taken less than six hours after the supposed signing. It shows lethal levels of unprescribed sedatives in my mother's bloodstream—sedatives that were bought illegally by Mónica Flores using Salgado's credit card."
I pulled out a second document.
"And these are the forensic handwriting and fingerprint analyses conducted by the Federal Police unit. They prove that my mother’s hand was forcefully dragged across the paper while she was uncoordinated due to chemical restraint."
Velasco’s confident demeanor shattered. He stammered, looking down at his files. "Your... Your Honor, these are unilateral private reports—"
"These are official state forensic reports, Counselor," Judge Vargas interrupted, his tone turning cold as ice. "And I will not allow my court to be used as a rubber stamp for land-grabbing cartels."
Judge Vargas slammed his seal onto our petition.
May you like
"Preventive annotation granted immediately," the judge declared. "All transactions involving the Coyoacán property are frozen indefinitely. And I am issuing an order for the immediate arrest of Notary Héctor Trejo."
Gabriel looked at me and nodded. We had won the first major battle. But I knew that a cornered snake is at its most dangerous.
