“Call whoever you want.” He laughed… until he realized who was on the other end of the line.

For nine days, Don José Franco did everything “by the book.”

And that was exactly the part no one knew when he stood before the mahogany desk of Máximo Del Valle, one of the most powerful real estate developers in Mexico, wearing a torn jacket, a worn backpack, and holding a phone in his hand.

For illustration purposes only
No one in that boardroom knew about those nine days.

They didn’t know about the letter José had written three weeks earlier in the public library in the Guerrero neighborhood, typing slowly with two fingers, correcting each mistake with patience and quiet dignity, explaining the situation of the building at 117 Laurel Street: fourteen families living there, a demolition order already in motion, and eleven days left before eviction.

They knew nothing about the four calls he placed to the urban development office at Del Valle Capital. Four. Each time he was told the same thing: “Of course, Mr. José, we’ll make a note and call you back.” They never did.

They didn’t know he had spent four hours seated in the gallery of the Cuauhtémoc mayor’s office, waiting for the item about the building to be addressed… until someone quietly informed him it had been “postponed” at the request of the company’s legal team.

They didn’t know about the free legal aid office on Eje Central, where a young—kind but exhausted—lawyer spoke to him honestly:

—Without a temporary injunction, we can’t stop the demolition. The permit is valid. The purchase is valid. The timeline… as well.