At 8:30 in the morning, the young couple left for work. Carmen watched them through the large bay window as they got into their new rental car, laughing as if nothing was amiss.
She waited patiently until they had turned the corner. Then she took a deep breath, took out her phone and searched in her black notebook.
She dialed the number for “Mudanzas El Toro”. Don Anselmo, a corpulent and loyal old customer of her former founder, answered.
— Don Anselmo? It's Doña Carmen. I need a huge favor. I need your 10-ton truck right away. I'm going to empty an entire apartment.
While waiting for the truck to arrive, Carmen took out a roll of green tape and began sticking little labels on everything that belonged to her. And the great tragedy for Mauricio was that, in this house, 99 percent of the things had a green label.
At 9:15 a.m., the doorbell rang. Don Anselmo arrived with 4 burly movers, greeted Carmen with deep respect and began to organize the mass extraction.
— Take absolutely everything that has a green mark, boys — ordered Carmen with the strategic coldness of a military general at war.
They took down the paintings, brought out the washing machine, packed up the fine china, and emptied the cupboards full of food. Carmen went into the master bedroom, took out Mauricio and Sofía's designer clothes, and threw them on the bed. She wasn't a thief; she wouldn't touch what wasn't hers.
At 11:45 a.m., the luxury apartment was nothing more than an empty shell that produced a ghostly echo.
All that remained was an old double mattress thrown directly on the floor, the building's gas stove and 2 faded plastic chairs that Mauricio had brought from his days as a failed bachelor.
Before leaving, Carmen went into the bathroom. She took a thick-tipped black permanent marker and wrote directly on the toilet seat:
“This is the only shitty throne you deserve in this life. Make sure it doesn't reek of mediocrity. Sincerely, The Old Good-for-Nothing.”
She left the building and immediately called management. She gave strict instructions to change the locks immediately, cancel her daughter's and son-in-law's magnetic access cards, and restrict their entry.
Next, she took an executive taxi to the Hotel Presidente. She requested room 405, ordered room service, and poured herself a glass of red wine.
She took out her old, reliable calculator with its worn buttons. She began adding up the maintenance, the premium groceries, the credit card payments, the car insurance, and the loans they had never repaid.
The final figure appeared on the small flashing screen: the young couple had swindled him out of 1,500,000 pesos in just 2 years.
At 7:00 PM, Carmen's phone began to explode with notifications. They were audio messages and WhatsApp messages from a hysterical and beside himself with anger.
“You’re crazy, you sick old woman! You stole everything from me! I’m going to call the police, give me back my furniture right now or I’ll have you put in jail, you dirty thief!”
Carmen burst into loud laughter in the solitude of her luxurious room. She simply left it on "read" and turned off the phone. She slept like a queen, wrapped in 400-thread-count sheets, without a sound or a word.
At 10:00 a.m. the next day, she met in the prestigious office of Maître Garrido, a ruthless lawyer and eviction specialist who did not joke around.
Mauricio and Sofía arrived at the meeting place sweating, smelling of pure despair, their clothes wrinkled and their eyes swollen and red from sleeping on the hard, cold floor.
— I'm going to have you thrown in jail for robbery in a group! — shouted Mauricio as he entered the office, pointing a trembling finger at Carmen, his face red with anger.
