The 5.5 Million Peso Rosca , Episode 2: The Mayor Brother

Héctor called the surgeon on Wednesday morning.

He did it from his car, in the parking lot of the municipal building, five minutes before his shift started. He sat in the driver's seat with the engine off and the windows up and the phone in his hand.

He dialed.

"Consultorio del Dr. Sandoval."

"Yes. My name is Héctor Valenzuela. Arturo Mondragón recommended Dr. Sandoval."

"Ah, yes. Arturo called ahead. We have you in the system. The doctor can see your daughter on Friday at 3 PM."

"Friday?"

"Is that a problem?"

"No. No problem. Friday is fine."

He hung up.

He sat in the car.

He had a consultation. In two days. At a private hospital that cost more than his monthly salary to enter. Because Arturo Mondragón had made a phone call.

He should have felt grateful. He felt trapped.

He went to work.

The municipal building of Puerto Vallarta was a monument to deferred maintenance.

The elevator had been broken since September. The air conditioning on the second floor worked intermittently, which meant it was either freezing or off. The fluorescent lights in the treasury office hummed at a frequency that had given Héctor headaches for eleven years. The water fountain outside his office had been taped with a handwritten sign that read NO FUNCIONA for so long that the paper had yellowed and curled.

The building was a metaphor for the city government. It functioned, barely. It looked fine from the outside. But the closer you got, the more cracks you saw.

Héctor sat at his desk. He opened the invoice drawer. The rosca invoice was still there, untouched. He closed the drawer.

His phone rang.

"Tesorero Valenzuela, this is Lic. Saldaña from accounting. Could you come to my office?"

Nora Saldaña's office was three doors down. She had been his second-in-command for two years. She was forty-three, sharp, ambitious, and dressed like she was already his replacement.

"Good morning, Tesorero."

"Good morning, Nora."

"I wanted to ask you about the Día de Reyes invoice."

"What about it?"

"I noticed it has not been processed."

"I'm reviewing it."

"For four days?"

"It's a large amount."

"It is. Five-point-five million pesos. That is 0.4 percent of the municipal operating budget. It is also, I noticed, made out to La Rosca Dorada, which is owned by Arturo Mondragón."

"I'm aware."

"Are you also aware that La Rosca Dorada has no physical address, no registered kitchen, and no employees, according to the tax register?"

Héctor looked at her.

"What are you saying, Nora?"

"I am saying nothing. I am asking a question. The invoice is large. The vendor is unusual. I want to make sure we are doing our due diligence."

"Of course."

"Good. I am glad we understand each other."

Héctor went back to his office.

He sat at his desk.

He opened the drawer.

He looked at the invoice.

At lunch, he went to a bakery on the Malecon.

He bought a piece of rosca de Reyes. It cost 12 pesos. It was fresh. It was good.

He thought about the invoice. 28 pesos per piece. More than double what this bakery charged. For a product that would be mass-produced somewhere and distributed by a company that had no employees.

He finished the rosca.

He threw the wrapper away.

He went back to work.

On Thursday, his wife found the business card.

It was in his jacket pocket, which was draped over the chair in the bedroom. She was looking for change. She found the card instead.

She called him at work.

"Who is Dr. Sandoval?"

Héctor's stomach dropped.

"He's a surgeon. A specialist. I made an appointment for Mariana."

"We cannot afford a private surgeon."

"I know. Just a consultation. To see what it would cost."

"To see what it would cost that we cannot pay?"

"Lidia — "

"Where did you get his number?"

He did not answer.

"Héctor. Where did you get his number?"

"From a contact at work."

"What contact?"

"A vendor."

"What vendor?"

"It's not important."

"It's important if you are getting favors from vendors, Héctor. It is very important."

He said nothing.

She said nothing.

The silence stretched.

"We will talk when you get home," she said.

She hung up.

That night, they talked.

More accurately, Lidia talked. Héctor listened.

She told him that she knew the rosca invoice existed. That Nora Saldaña had called her — not to be malicious, but to warn her. That everyone in the municipal building was watching. That Héctor was walking into a trap.

She told him that Mariana's surgery mattered more than his pride. That she did not care where the money came from. That she had been watching him suffer for two years, watching him carry the weight of not being able to fix his daughter's spine, and that if approving one invoice would end it, she would tell him to approve it.

"You would tell me to take the money?" he said.

"I would tell you to save our daughter."

"The money is stolen."

"Everything in that building is stolen, Héctor. You know that. The difference is whether it goes to Mariana or to Arturo Mondragón's boat."

He looked at her.

"When did you get so practical?"

"The day our daughter's spine started curving."

She went to bed.

He stayed in the living room.

He looked at the business card.

He did not throw it away.

End of Episode 2