It's evident that the reporter isn't just some low-level news anchor; her manners, her hands, and her clothes betray her status despite that tight, lifted face. If we add the relative ease with which she obtained her credentials, she could be the daughter—or the wife—of some media tycoon.
"Ma'am, I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure of booking a visit for you... who are you?"
She doesn't hold my gaze. Perhaps she expected security to be more relaxed.
"I understand you want to ask questions, but why do so illegally?"
"Miss Mountaigne!" she snaps. "Mr. Charlatan, I ask illegally because I can't ask questions about something that doesn't exist. I've known this place exists for two years. What is done here? It's something no one could—or would—tell me. And why here? This area is overrun by various cartels."
She's not good; at least not at the level I'd expect from someone hunting me. There hasn't been more than one cartel left in this zone for a long time.
"Why is the press barred from this place where even the 'wretched' cannot enter?"
"Miss, I fear you are confused. Do you see these facilities? They exist to bring investment. Follow me."
I limit her tour to level one through three work areas; all research sectors are strictly excluded.
"As you can see, people work here with all the benefits the government has dismissed. They have thirty-year contracts. During that period, they can marry, raise families, and send their children to the university of their choice. We have agreements with every private school; our goal is for them to be students of excellence so they can return. There is always a job opening here."
She says nothing. She merely observes with the eyes of a vulture, searching for hints of isolation, sadness, or neglect.
"I hope you can give us a favorable review."
"You still won't tell me why no one comes here," she counters. "When I tried to book, the travel agencies said this place doesn't exist."
I've recognized her now. She's the heiress to the telephony and internet consortium of the former "richest man in the world." She was a fallen socialite; her travel agency stayed loyal to the previous government, and when the administration changed, it cast her aside, leaving her in discredit and in the red.
"Why can't I meet your clients? Are they narcos?! Are you a purveyor of pleasures for the cartels? Murderer!"
"Strong accusations. The topic of illegal drug trade always floats to the surface when someone is doing well. No, my lady, there isn't a single drug lord staying in our facilities. But since they are truly distinguished clients, I cannot allow anyone to disturb them. Paparazzi are quite a nuisance for those seeking to get away from everyone and everything for a couple of weeks a year."
"I am among the most important people in Latin America in terms of position, power, and money," she spits. "This place looks like those Caribbean zones where men have sex with minors... if you don't let me see who visits and explain how their itinerary is unknown to airports and customs, I will launch a media campaign."
"I can show you the entire site, but per my contract with my clients, I must ask them first. They will tell me when they wish to see you."
"So you attest, here before the cameras, that you will grant exclusive access to the Tvinitum network to meet the tycoons escaping their countries for a third world where the dollar reigns and corruption lets them come and go?"
It was clear she was recording. I'm no fool.
"Before you ruin my workers' livelihoods, why don't you visit the surrounding towns? We are in a poor State, you know that. I myself suffer the state's corruption. For instance, I was forced to donate an 'all-in-one' complex about ten kilometers from San Miguel de Allende. Why don't you go and record them? You'll find the municipal president there, almost all the state police commanders... and since the governor is traveling, you won't see him, but you will find the secretary."
"Are you telling me they live off your profits? How much does a night in your hotel cost?"
"Enough to ensure they don't miss the comforts of their families while helping the people. Could you do me that favor? You can travel in the company cars."
I see her considering it. In the end, these three stories would put her back at the top of media credibility—something she hasn't had in decades.
"Furthermore, you and your team could spend the night here."
"No, sir. I will come to interview your visitors. I will leave men outside to ensure no one leaves, but..." a faint smile appears. "I will be more than satisfied if your facilities provide us shelter once I have interviewed everyone and exposed the sybaritic attitude of the companies that refuse to do business with mine."
She leaves. The employees know she must walk out of here feeling successful. They simply block the network so she cannot send any photos or video.