Twelve Days of Vigil and an Unexpected Warning
For almost two weeks I did not leave Gabriel’s bed, my husband, at the General Hospital in Mexico City. A truck with a semi-trailer had hit his truck on the Periférico, leaving him with fractured ribs, a serious spinal injury and cerebral edema. The doctors spoke cautiously; I barely slept in a rigid armchair and fed myself on what the cafeteria offered.
Gabriel was co-founder, together with his brother Mauricio, of Transportes Aranda. While I prayed for his life, Mauricio appeared in the hospital with expensive suits and an impatient expression, as if the tragedy were a setback in his schedule. He kept telling me that the company couldn’t stop. What he didn’t know was that, before I became a university professor of accounting, I had spent eight years analyzing financial fraud for the prosecution.
