La Sangre Dorada

Alex Pastor-Shepherd pressed his forehead against the cool window of his Lexus, watching rain transform the Santa Barbara estate. The invitation—embossed with his family's crest, a shepherd's staff crossed with a conquistador's sword—sat crumpled in the cupholder beside a half-empty flask of añejo tequila.

"You gonna sit here all day?" Marco asked from the driver's seat. "Your father's security already made us twice. That guy with the earpiece has been taking our photo for his shrine to mediocrity."

Alex exhaled, fogging the glass. "Just calculating the exact amount of tequila required to make this bearable."

"There's not enough Patrón in Jalisco," Marco replied, checking the rearview mirror.

Two years. Two years since his sister Sofia's breakdown. Two years of watching his father—real estate mogul David Pastor, who had anglicized to Shepherd for business purposes decades ago—sweep it all away like spilled wine at one of his galas.

"Let's do this," Alex said, straightening his tie. "Double-check everything."

Marco nodded. "It's set. Footage ready. Guests positioned. Attorney standing by."

Alex took a pull from his flask and stepped into the rain.

The Pastor-Shepherd Annual Charity Gala. Sacramento's governor, two senators, and half of Hollywood's A-list had gathered to watch David distribute crumbs from his table while calling it philanthropy. This year's theme celebrated the family's Mexican heritage—"Honoring Our Roots"—another performance from a man who had spent decades distancing himself from those very roots.

"¡Alejandro!" His father's voice boomed across the marble foyer. David Pastor-Shepherd, seventy and silver-haired, embodied old California money despite being only second-generation wealthy. "Llegas tarde."

"Traffic," Alex lied, accepting his father's perfunctory embrace. "Terrible accident on the 101. Someone's hopes and dreams collided with reality."

David stepped back, eyeing his son's appearance. "Estás muy flaco."

"You look like you're enjoying your lobbyist's cooking," Alex countered, patting his father's paunch. "The foie gras lobby has been filling out your suits."

David chuckled without humor. "Come, your brother's holding court in the east wing."

"How fortunate for the court."

"Alejandro." His father's voice dropped. "Today matters. The Keller acquisition hinges on family unity. La familia unida jamás será vencida. Play nice."

"When have I ever been anything but delightful?" Alex smiled his television smile—the one he'd perfected during his brief stint as the company's media spokesman before Nathaniel had engineered his exile to the environmental division.

David sighed. "Just remember who you are."

That's exactly what I'm doing, Alex thought as they entered the grand ballroom.

The room was a temple to excess—crystal chandeliers, ice sculptures, gold-leafed roses flown in from Ecuador. A mariachi quartet played something suitably sophisticated in the corner, a nod to the heritage David only acknowledged when it served him.

"Is that the same quartet from last year?" Alex whispered to a passing waiter.

"Same quartet, sir," the waiter confirmed. "Your father has them play Vivaldi arranged as mariachi whenever the governor visits. Says it's 'cultural fusion.'"

Nathaniel Pastor-Shepherd stood by the windows overlooking the pool, surrounded by what Alex mentally categorized as "professional nodders"—people whose careers depended on agreeing with whatever garbage spilled from his brother's mouth.

"Hermanito!" Nathaniel exclaimed, breaking away. "You actually came! Did you raid the gardener's closet, or is the rumpled intellectual look deliberate?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Alex replied, accepting Nathan's embrace while meeting the eyes of a woman behind him—Detective Elena Vasquez, in civilian clothes, exactly as planned. "My therapist said exposure to narcissistic personality disorder would be educational."

"You're just in time," Nathan continued. "I was telling everyone about my foundation's work in Croatia. Rebuilding communities, very touching stuff."

"Fascinating," Alex said. "Did you learn how to say 'I'm untouchable' in Croatian, or did you stick with English?"

Nathan's smile flickered, then returned at higher wattage. "Still bitter. Adorable." He leaned closer, voice dropping. "This is happening, Alex. Tonight, Father announces my return as COO. The Keller deal proceeds with me at the helm. The world keeps turning."

"It certainly does," Alex agreed mildly. "Where's Sophie?"

"Doctor advised against it," David interjected. "The therapist says large gatherings still trigger episodes."

"Fascinating diagnosis," Alex replied. "Especially considering I had breakfast with her this morning, and she's upstairs right now."

Nathan's expression shifted. "You brought her here? Tonight?"

"She lives here, Nathan. Or did you forget whose house this was while you were touring European brothels?"

"Gentlemen," David growled. "Not now."

A woman approached. "David, the governor's asking for you."

As they moved away, Alex checked his watch. Thirty minutes until the speeches. Twenty-eight minutes until everything changed.

"Alex Pastor-Shepherd?" Detective Vasquez asked, holding two champagne flutes.

"Detective. You clean up nicely."

"So does betrayal when you put it in a tuxedo," she replied, handing him a glass. "Your father just shook hands with my captain."

"I know everyone my father plays with," Alex said. "That's why you're here and not someone he owns."

"Your sister could testify," Elena suggested.

Alex's jaw tightened. "Sofia can barely leave her studio."

"And the other women?"

"They're here," Alex confirmed. "All three of them. La sangre dorada comes with responsibilities my brother never understood."

A waiter appeared. "Mr. Pastor-Shepherd. There's a call for you. Something about the presentation?"

Alex nodded to Elena. "Find a good seat for the show, Detective."

The media room hummed with electricity as Alex entered. Technicians worked at computers while Marco watched security feeds.

"We're patched into the ballroom system," Marco confirmed.

"Remind me why we couldn't just email the evidence to TMZ like normal vengeful people?" a technician asked.

"Because," Alex replied, "mi familia doesn't do anything without proper lighting. We even have our nervous breakdowns with professional staging."

The technician snorted. "Rich people are weird."

On the screens, Alex spotted Sofia on the east balcony with her therapist, and the three women at separate tables.

"Your brother seems like a real piece of work," the technician said.

"That's the nicest description I've heard in years," Alex replied, straightening his cuffs. "I'll be in position."

As he turned to leave, Marco caught his arm. "Hey. You sure about this? There's still time to back out."

Alex considered the question, thinking of Sophie's vacant eyes, of Nathan's smugness, of his father's calculated indifference.

"There's a difference between vengeance and justice," Alex said finally. "I've spent two years making sure this is the latter."

"And if it feels like the former?"

"Then I'll live with it," Alex replied. "Better than living with the alternative."

The ballroom had transformed into a sea of expectant faces as David approached the podium. Crystal glasses clinked as waiters topped off champagne.

Alex positioned himself near the exit, nodding to his security guard. Across the room, Nathaniel stood with the governor's daughter, his hand resting too low on her back.

"Distinguished guests," David began, "for thirty years, the Pastor-Shepherd Foundation has embodied our family's commitment to healing communities..."

A waiter paused beside Alex. "Your father's on his third teleprompter," he whispered. "The first two refused to participate in another year of hypocrisy."

Alex choked back a laugh. "How does the staff betting pool look?"

"Three-to-one odds he compares himself to his immigrant grandfather while wearing cufflinks that cost more than my car."

As Nathaniel took the stage, Alex noted at least three women who'd clearly rather be applauding with closed fists to his face.

"Gracias, Padre. Governor Willis, honored guests..." Nathaniel smiled, calibrated for maximum charm. "I'd like to present a short film highlighting the work we've done this past year."

He gestured toward the massive screen descending from the ceiling. Alex almost admired the showmanship—if the devil opened a PR firm, Nathaniel would be the first hire.

Alex pressed a button on his phone. "Now."

The lights dimmed. The screen illuminated with security footage: Nathaniel cornering a sobbing woman against a desk. Nathaniel following a drugged girl down a hotel hallway. Nathaniel shoving Sofia into his car, her movements clearly intoxicated.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Nathaniel froze, his face draining of color faster than a vampire at a garlic festival.

The screen split into quadrants—women describing what Nathaniel had done to them.

"He said no one would believe me..." "His father's lawyers threatened my family..." "I was sixteen..." "He drugged my drink..."

David lunged toward the AV booth, but security intercepted him.

"¿Qué diablos es esto?" Nathaniel hissed, eyes locking on Alex.

The screen changed. Financial records appeared—payments to victims, bribes to officials, offshore accounts labeled "Hush Money" and "Judicial Considerations."

"Technical difficulties," Alex called, stepping forward. "Or perhaps technical honesty. Though to a Pastor-Shepherd, those are the same thing."

Chaos erupted. The governor retreated toward the exit with the speed of a man who'd just remembered urgent business anywhere else.

"¡Calumnia!" David roared. "This presentation has been hacked. Call my lawyer! Call my therapist!"

"Actually," Detective Vasquez said, appearing beside Alex, "these are evidence files from an active investigation. Mr. Pastor-Shepherd, we have some questions." She glanced at her watch. "And I'm off duty in twenty minutes, so could you choose to come quietly? I have concert tickets."

Nathaniel's confidence shattered. "This is—you can't—" His eyes found Sofia on the balcony. "This is a setup! She was asking for it!"

The microphone caught every word. The crowd's murmuring intensified.

Alex ascended to the stage. "The women are pressing charges. The board has received copies of everything. The Keller deal is being reevaluated with me as CEO." He smiled thinly. "I would have sent a 'Sorry You're Being Indicted' card, but Hallmark doesn't make those in Spanish."

Nathaniel lunged, but security restrained him, creating a tableau that Alex noted would make an excellent new foundation logo.

"¿Crees que esto te hace mejor que yo?" Nathaniel snarled. "You've become exactly what you claim to hate."

"No," Alex replied quietly. "I've become what was necessary."

As Detective Vasquez read Nathaniel his rights, Alex's phone buzzed with a text from Sofia: ¿Está hecho?

He typed back: Está hecho.

Three hours later, Alex sat alone by the illuminated pool, shoes off, feet dangling in the water. The gala had disintegrated into a media frenzy. Nathaniel had been taken for questioning. David had retreated with his lawyers. The dynasty was imploding in real-time on social media, with #PastorShepherdShaming already trending.

Sofia joined him, wrapped in an oversized rebozo.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked, voice stronger than he'd heard in months.

"Always room for my favorite sister."

"Soy tu única hermana," she replied, sitting beside him. "Though after tonight, I imagine several half-siblings might crawl out of the woodwork. Father never met a confidentiality agreement he didn't like."

They sat in comfortable silence, watching ripples spread across the turquoise surface.

"Did it help?" Alex asked finally. "Seeing him taken away like that?"

Sophie considered the question. "Not in the way I expected." She traced patterns in the water with her foot. "Watching him fall didn't make me whole again. But watching the governor trip over a potted plant trying to escape the scandal? That was definitely therapeutic."

Alex smiled. "The man moved surprisingly fast for someone carrying the weight of corporate donations."

"They should add that to the Olympics," Sophie agreed. "Corrupt Official Sprinting. He'd medal for sure."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she said. "What you did tonight wasn't just for me. It was for all of us. For the next girl he would have hurt."

Alex leaned back on his palms, looking up at the stars barely visible through Los Angeles' light pollution. "The board meeting tomorrow will be interesting."

"You'll win," Sophie said with certainty. "The Keller acquisition needs a Shepherd, and you're the only one left standing."

"That was never the point."

"Wasn't it?" she asked gently. "Even a little?"

Alex smiled ruefully. "Maybe a little."

From the house came the sound of raised voices—David arguing with someone, probably his crisis management team.

"He'll never forgive you," Sophie observed.

"I can live with that."

"Can you?" she pressed. "You've spent your life trying to earn his approval."

"And you spent yours trying to avoid Nathan's attention," Alex countered. "We all have our crosses."

Sophie nudged his shoulder with hers. "Forgiveness was an option, you know."

"Not for this," Alex said, suddenly fierce. "Never for this."

She studied him in the blue glow of the pool lights. "Just be careful, Alex. Revenge changes people."

"So does trauma," he replied softly. "So does injustice."

Inside the mansion, lights switched off one by one as staff departed and guests retreated. Tomorrow, the Shepherd empire would enter damage control mode. The board would convene. Lawyers would circle. But tonight, in this moment, there was only a brother and sister sitting poolside in the aftermath of necessary destruction.

"What now?" Sophie asked after a while.

Alex glanced at the dark house behind them, at the ruins of the dynasty he'd toppled and would likely inherit.

"Now," he said, splashing water at her playfully, "we build something better from the ashes."

"Or at least something with better catering," she suggested. "The canapés tonight were tragic. All that money and Father still serves pigs in blankets."

She laughed—a genuine laugh he hadn't heard in years—and splashed him back. "If you're going to be a corrupt tycoon, at least have decent taste."

"I promise to use my powers for evil only after serving good appetizers," Alex solemnly vowed.

In that moment, watching his sister's face alive with something like joy, Alex could almost believe his motivations had been pure. Almost.

But deep within, where ambition met righteousness, he recognized an uncomfortable truth: in destroying the monster, he had embraced some of its power. The kingdom he would claim tomorrow had been won through calculated manipulation, through public humiliation, through his own form of ruthlessness.

Justice and vengeance. Sometimes the line between them was as fluid as the water rippling around his feet, as reflective as the pool mirroring the mansion's lights—revealing the cost of choosing one path when forgiveness had been another option all along.

La sangre dorada—the golden blood his family had always prized above all else—now stained his hands as surely as it had Nathaniel's.

"¿Alejandro?" Sofia's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "¿Estás bien?"

He smiled, masking the darkness that had taken root alongside his triumph. "Nunca mejor."