It was past 4 PM when Mark ended his last video meeting for the day. A deal with one of his old clients in London was on the verge of falling through, and the man had insisted he would only reconsider if Mark himself was present.
Unable to fly to London, Mark joined the meeting via video conferencing. It took the better part of three hours to iron out all the wrinkles, and by the time they were done, he was nursing a mild headache.
He realized he had forgotten to take his medication that morning amid his busy schedule, so after rectifying that, he headed downstairs, hoping to find something distracting to alleviate his headache.
As he settled in to catch a rerun of "The Heirs," he heard the distinctive V-6 Engine of the Raptor rumbling into the compound, announcing Isabella's return. A smile crept onto his face at the familiar sound. "The Heirs" was indeed an interesting show, but for Mark Matthews, Isabella's presence was worth far more than any television program.
His surprise grew when he realized she had parked in front of the compound instead of heading to the garage as usual. Before he could ponder the reason, she stormed in, her eyes ablaze with rage, and thrust some papers into his lap.
"Mark, I need an explanation… and I need it now," she demanded, her voice trembling with emotion.
Picking up the scattered papers from his lap, Mark stared at them for a moment, trying to comprehend what was unfolding before him. In the picture, his younger self sat on a table across two others, who he recognized as ghosts of a previous life that had returned from beyond the grave to haunt him – "The Ramirez Brothers."
They were the very first investors he had when he was still finding his footing in the corporate world. With their support, he had started his firm, until he realized the true nature of their business and how they had used him and his firm to launder their drug money.
With a deep sigh, he looked up into Isabella's blazing eyes. "Where did you get this, Isabella?" he asked, his voice heavy with resignation.
"That isn't the question you should be asking, Mark. I need some explanation," she demanded, her tone laced with venom.
"Okay, Isabella, I know this looks bad…but I promise, I can explain," Mark said, hoping to calm her down.
"That's exactly what I need you to do," she shot back, her voice trembling with emotion.
He motioned for her to take a seat, hoping to ease the tension, but she remained standing, her expression hardened.
"So, I am listening. Tell me why there is a picture of you together with known drug traffickers and murderers," she demanded, her words sharp and accusatory.
Mark took a deep breath, steeling himself for the conversation ahead. "Yes, I did business with them," he admitted, his tone sincere. "But that was before I knew who they really were… I swear."
"You did business with those bastards, and you didn't know what they did?… or was it because you didn't want to know?" Isabella's voice cracked with emotion, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Mark wondered why the matter seemed to bother her so much. The Ramirez brothers were truly dangerous and well-known traffickers in Mexico back then but they had been dead fifteen years now and what was left of their empire was scattered or taken over by other cartels.
He leaned forward to trying to console her. "The Ramirez brothers are long dead Isabella. Why does it really matter that I did business with them fifteen years ago… I never hurt anyone." No sooner had he said the words, he knew he was going to regret it.
Slapping away his hand in a fit of rage, she accused him with a trembling voice, "Maybe you never pulled the trigger, Mark Matthews, but your business partners killed dozens of innocent people… including my father."
He sat there in shock, replaying her words in his head over and over again; The Ramirez brothers had killed her father. He had later found out about many of the atrocities the brothers committed after their death, but never did he think they would strike so close to home like this.
Mark knew he had to do something or say something, or he was going to lose her. But try as he may, he couldn't find the right words. "I can't blame her," he thought. He wondered how he would react if someone he knew had a hand in his parents' death. It would be hard to look at the person the same way ever again.
As he watched her with tears streaming down her face, she glared down at him. Unsure of his next move, his mind drifted to the series of events fifteen years earlier that led him here.
Fifteen years ago, fresh out of college with a degree in finance, Mark Matthews was eager to make a name for himself in the competitive world of wealth management. With a natural talent for numbers and a keen eye for business opportunities, he was determined to build his own firm from the ground up.
However, starting a business from scratch proved to be more challenging than he had anticipated. Despite his skills and ambition, he struggled to secure the necessary capital to launch his venture. Rejected by traditional investors and banks due to his lack of experience and track record, he was on the verge of giving up his dream when he received an unexpected offer of assistance.
He had run into Miguel Ramirez, the younger of the two Ramirez brothers, at a finance conference in Miami, who then offered to introduce Mark to his older brother, a politician in La Paz who was said to be looking for new investment opportunities.
Ambitious and desperate for financing, Mark had neglected to do the necessary background check on the brothers, and he had eagerly jumped at the opportunity to meet the elder Ramirez.
True to his word, Miguel Ramirez had flown him to La Paz the following week, where he introduced him to his older brother, Hector Ramirez. The Ramirez brothers saw potential in Mark's business proposal and offered to provide the funding he needed to get started.
Unaware of the Ramirez brothers' criminal activities, Mark accepted their offer without hesitation. With their financial backing, Mark was able to establish his firm and quickly gained a reputation for his astute financial management skills and impeccable discretion.
As Mark's business flourished, so did his relationship with the Ramirez brothers. Initially, their involvement seemed harmless, limited to providing financial support and occasional advice on navigating the cutthroat world of high finance. However, as Mark's success grew, so did his reliance on the Ramirez brothers' funding.
Unbeknownst to Mark, the Ramirez brothers were using his legitimate business as a front to launder their illicit profits. Under the guise of investment capital, they funneled dirty money through Mark's firm, effectively whitewashing their criminal proceeds and obscuring their illegal activities from law enforcement.
It took about three years after he started working with them before he caught the first sniff of what the brothers were truly into. During a trip to La Paz to attend Miguel's birthday party, the venue was attacked by a rival cartel in retaliation for some earlier attacks by the Ramirez cartel. It had been a violent shooting, and Mark barely got away unscathed.
The aftermath of the shooting had opened his eyes to the true business of his business partners, and when Mark had threatened to cut ties, they had sent a hitman while he was asleep in his home in California as a warning and to prove to him that there was nowhere he could hide from them.
Mark could still hear Miguel's soft, heavily accented voice echoing in his mind. "Did you really believe I was in Miami to attend a conference?" he had asked Mark. "No, I came to scout for the perfect mule… and you, my greedy friend, were so eager, I could smell your desperation from a mile away. And now, we own you."
So Mark had continued to help launder money for the Ramirez cartel while he nursed sleepless nights, living in fear of the day they would decide they needed him no more and send a hitman for real this time.
When he could no longer bear it anymore, he had confided in an old army buddy of his father who then connected him to the DEA agents who were handling the case of the Ramirez Cartel.
The DEA had long been pursuing the Ramirez Cartel, but solid evidence to take them down remained elusive. Mark, driven by a mix of fear and guilt, made the bold decision to collaborate with authorities, offering vital intel in exchange for immunity.
Wearing a wire during his next meetings with the Ramirez brothers was a gamble that paid off. That was a big risk Mark had taken because it would have cost him his life, but the brothers were overly confident of their hold over him and that turned out to be their undoing.
In one pivotal conversation, Miguel Ramirez unwittingly revealed crucial details about an impending massive cocaine shipment, providing the DEA with the leverage they needed. "The Ramirez cartel would be receiving a large shipment of cocaine from South America next Tuesday: it's going to be the largest shipment ever on this side of the Atlantic," he boasted.
A meticulously planned raid was carried out by the DEA and the Mexican Policía Fedéral on the Ramirez Cartel hidden warehouse located in the little village of Cielo de Aguaviva where a fatal shootout occured. As if by a stroke of luck, Both brothers met their demise in the chaos.
But that wouldn't matter to Isabella, he realized as his mind drifted back to the present. He had been in business with known criminals and murderers, as she said… and it was all due to his greed and ambition. If he had to go back in time and do it differently knowing what he knew now, Mark wondered if he would have taken the same path again.
As he watched her collapse onto the adjacent couch, her shoulders slumped with the weight of her emotions, his heart ached at the sight of her sorrow, knowing that he was the cause of it. Praying to find the right words, he finally said "I am so sorry about your dad, Isabella. I didn't know."
"Believe me, if I had known then, I would have done things differently." He continued, his voice trembling with genuine remorse.
Isabella's response was subdued, her voice heavy with pain. "Maybe, But that doesn't matter much now, does it?." With those words, Isabella rose from the couch and retreated to her room, leaving Mark to grapple with the weight of his guilt.
Mark had half a mind to go after her, to hold her, console her, tell her everything was going to be fine and promise her the world. While she stood before him crying, it felt like a razor tearing at his soul, but he knew she needed her space. She wanted to be alone and he wouldn't deny her that.
He sat there for a while, hoping the TV show he was watching would be enough to keep his mind wandering but that proved pointless. Outside, the sun had gone down and it was getting dark so he headed for the kitchen.
Tonight, he would need something stronger than wine he thought, so he grabbed a bottle of Vodka and took a swig. The hot liquor felt like fire as it burnt his throat, bringing tears to his face. Yes he thought, tears… I needed that.
Drinking alone on the sofa, Mark's mind swirled with regrets and what-ifs. Eventually, exhaustion overtook him, and he drifted off to sleep, the empty bottle of vodka by his side.
When he woke up the next morning, with a hangover the size of an atomic bomb… there was a note waiting for him on the table. As he read the note, the words hung in his throat.
Isabella was gone.