Chapter 123 The Proxy War

Chapter 123 The Proxy War
Maritza’s fingers tightened around her mug until her knuckles whitened. “He’s not even hiding anymore.”

Cole’s jaw worked. “He doesn’t have to. He served eighteen months in minimum security—white-collar, cushy. Out on good behavior six months ago. Quiet. No press. No noise. Until now.”

Maritza closed the laptop with a soft click. “How much do they have?”

Cole pulled up the shareholder registry Freya had sent at 3:00 a.m. Mexico time. “Four point eight percent as of yesterday. Scattered through three shell companies. All routed through a small hedge fund called Crestwood Partners. Registered in Delaware. Managing director is a nobody named Paul Grayson. But the funding trail—”

“—leads back to Romero,” Maritza finished. “And Ricardo.”

Cole nodded once. “Freya’s running the corporate filings now. She’ll have the full network map by noon.”

Maritza stared at the closed screen. Xavier let out a small, sleepy sound through the baby monitor. Her heart clenched.

“I thought we left this behind,” she whispered. “New York. New start. No ghosts.”

Cole slid onto the stool beside her, turning her chair so she faced him. “We did. But ghosts don’t stay buried when there’s money to be made.”

She met his eyes—green, steady, furious on her behalf. “I can’t lose the company, Cole. Not to him. Not after everything.”

“You won’t,” he said. “We fight smart. We fight quiet. We fight now.”

Her phone buzzed. Freya’s name flashed.

Maritza answered on speaker.

Freya’s voice came through crisp and furious. “Got it. Crestwood’s parent fund is Cayman-based. Layered through three offshore entities. But the signature on the funding transfer? Romero Montoya’s personal assistant. Same woman who handled Ricardo’s offshore accounts before the arrest.”

Maritza’s stomach dropped. “He’s been planning this since prison.”

“Longer,” Freya said. “The first purchase was three weeks before his release. He’s been waiting.”

Cole leaned in. “Board meeting?”

“Next scheduled is six weeks out,” Freya said. “But if they hit ten percent, they can force an emergency session. We have maybe two months before they cross the threshold.”

Maritza’s mind raced. “I need to be in Guadalajara. In person. I need to see the board. Face them.”

Cole’s hand tightened on her shoulder. “You want to fly down?”

“I have to,” she said. “Video won’t cut it. Not with Ricardo’s ghost in the room.”

Freya’s voice softened. “Elena’s already asking when you’re coming. She wants to stand with you.”

Maritza exhaled. “Tell her I’ll be there by the weekend.”

Cole looked at her for a long moment. “How long?”

“A week,” she said. “Maybe ten days. I need to meet with the board, review the shareholder ledger in person, lock down voting blocs. Then I come home.”

Cole’s thumb brushed her collarbone. “Xavier and I will hold down the fort.”

Maritza’s throat tightened. “I hate leaving you both.”

“I know.” He kissed her forehead. “But you’re not abandoning us. You’re protecting what’s ours. He’s six months old. He’ll be fine. I’ll send you videos every day. And when you come back, we’ll celebrate.”

She leaned into him, breathing him in—coffee, clean cotton, the faint trace of Xavier’s baby lotion that clung to him now. “Promise me you’ll keep him safe.”

“Always,” Cole said.

They spent the next forty-eight hours in a blur of preparation. Maritza packed light—business suits, the black silk dress Cole loved, a few soft things for Xavier’s scent memory. Cole rearranged his court schedule, handed off non-urgent cases to associates. Judith booked the private jet, arranged security at both ends.

The night before she left, they sat on the rooftop terrace—Xavier asleep in the bassinet beside them, city lights glittering below. Maritza nursed him one last time before bedtime, the quiet rhythm of his suckling steadying her racing heart.

Cole watched them, eyes soft. “You’re going to be okay.”

“I know,” she said. “I just… I hate that Ricardo still has this power. That he can reach across years and borders and still make me feel small.”

Cole reached over, cupping her cheek. “He doesn’t make you small. You make him irrelevant. You built this—here, in Mexico, everywhere. You rebuilt the brand. You rebuilt your family. You rebuilt us. He’s just noise.”

Maritza leaned into his touch. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

They went to bed early. Made love slowly, quietly—reverent, desperate, memorizing each other before the distance. Afterward, they lay tangled, Xavier’s soft breathing drifting through the monitor.

Maritza whispered into the dark, “A week.”

Cole kissed her temple. “A week.”

The morning of departure was gray and cold. Cole drove her to Teterboro, Xavier strapped into his car seat in the back, babbling at the passing lights. At the private terminal, Maritza held her son for a long time, his tiny hands, the crown of his head.

“Be good for Daddy,” she whispered. “Mama will be home soon.”

Xavier grabbed her hair, cooing. She laughed through tears.

Cole took him gently. “We’ll be fine. Call when you land.”

She kissed Cole—deep, lingering. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

She walked up the jet stairs alone, turning once at the top to wave. Cole lifted Xavier’s hand in a tiny wave. The door closed.

The flight to Guadalajara was smooth, the cabin quiet. Maritza stared out the window at the clouds, Soledad’s letter folded in her pocket. She hadn’t opened it yet. She wasn’t ready.

The plane touched down at 3:14 p.m. local time.

Elena waited on the tarmac—hair pulled back, eyes fierce and tired. She pulled Maritza into a crushing hug the moment her feet hit the ground.

“You’re here,” Elena said.

“I’m here.”

Maritza hugged them all—long, tight hugs that said everything words couldn’t.


Then she walked to Soledad’s old study. The chair still sat by the window, empty. Maritza sat in it slowly. She pulled the letter from her pocket, her grandmother’s handwriting made her missed her more.

My dearest Maritza,

If you’re reading this, I’m gone. Don’t grieve too long. I had a good run. I built something that outlasted me. You will too.

I know you’re angry. At me. At Elena. At the secrets. I kept her from you because I was ashamed. I failed her. I failed you. But I never stopped loving either of you.

The empire is yours now. Not the buildings. Not the fields. The people. Protect them. Fight for them. Forgive when you can. And when you can’t—walk away. But never let the past steal your future.

You’re stronger than you know.

Tell Cole he’s family. Tell your son his great-grandmother loved him before he was born.

And Maritza—

Dance in the rain.

Always.

—Soledad

Maritza folded the letter carefully, tears falling freely.

She looked out the window at the agave fields—blue-green under the late sun.

Then she stood.

She had a board meeting tomorrow.

Ricardo Montoya was waiting.

And this time, she wasn’t running.

At the private terminal the next morning, as she waited for the car to take her to the corporate offices, a courier approached.

“Señora de León?”

He held out a bouquet of white roses—perfect, fragrant, tied with black ribbon.

Maritza’s stomach dropped. She took the card with shaking hands.

Welcome home, mi amor.

—R