Jacob Diaz

Diaz had met Maraluz at a pool party months earlier.

She was well-educated and, although Maraluz was Mexican, she spoke fluent English and possessed the silky black hair and pale skin of a Spaniard.

Due to her father's position in the government, Maraluz had been appointed youth director in Acapulco.

The position came with a certain amount of prestige.

She'd just picked up Diaz from the airport.

He'd barely had time to strip off the cash and tuck it into his bag before the policia pulled them over.

Mariluz held the credentials up to the officer's face and sighed.

I'm Mariluz Velez, a director with the government.

Why are you stopping me?

The most likely explanation was the police officer had seen the expensive SUV and were hoping to extract a small bribe.

Instead, the officers quickly apologized for the mistake.

I did not realize.

Obviously, you can go, director.

Maraluza's family was wealthy, and according to Diaz, who was 23 at the time, they didn't have anything in common.

All she cared about was that I was a good-looking American, said Diaz.

That was a big deal.

It was a status thing for her.

After Arturo's death, his brother, Carlos, took control of the Beltranleva organization.

Two weeks later, however, Carlos was captured by the Mexican federal police in Coloacan, Sinaloa.

Shortly thereafter, the organization became plagued with internal strife.