Part 11: The Secondary Injunction
Three months later, the crisp autumn breeze in Albuquerque had turned into a deep, biting winter cold.
I stood inside the open office window of the Ruta Norte main terminal, watching the dispatchers track our refrigerated routes.
The old smell of grease and panic was entirely gone, replaced by the fresh, clean scent of the open garden air.
Marcus walked into the room, holding a secondary leather-bound portfolio bearing the city's master registry stamp.
"We have a problem with the northern baseline routes, Maya," he said, his face unusually grim.
"The pharmacy distribution contract?"
"The firm we contracted to handle the regional freight transfers," Marcus said, opening the portfolio.
"They were bought out last night by a shell company registered in Delaware."
I looked at the routing numbers.
The prefix was identical to the one my mother-in-law, Carol, had used to hide her personal gambling debts.
"Carol didn't act alone from her cell, Marcus," I said, my pulse hammering against my ribs.
"No, si... I mean, no, Boss," Marcus whispered.
"The Delaware corporation is owned by your ex-husband's family. The Whitmores."
I stood up, adjusting the lapels of my blazer.
Grant Whitmore.
The man who had divorced me while I was pregnant years ago, leaving me to build Ruta Norte with nothing but two box trucks.
He had spent the last few months quiet, letting the Mendozas take the blame while he slowly bought up the infrastructure surrounding my new routes.
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"He’s trying to freeze our pharmacy delivery licenses," Marcus warned.
"If he files the regulatory injunction by noon, the state will be forced to halt all our medical supply trucks until a full compliance review is completed."
