It was a hot Friday night in Medellín, 1982. Pablo Escobar had decided to get out of his usual routine to visit a discreet bar in the Laureles neighborhood, far from the places where he normally met with his partners. He wore casual clothes, dark jeans and a white linen shirt, trying to go unnoticed in the crowd.

His bodyguards remained at a safe distance, mingling with the customers of the establishment. La Estrella Dorada bar was known for its laid-back atmosphere and varied clientele, from college students to workers looking to forget about the workweek. Pablo sat down at a table in the corner, ordered a double whiskey and lit a Marboro cigarette, observing the movement of the place with that penetrating gaze that characterized the most powerful man in Colombian drug trafficking. Salsa music blared as couples

They danced on the small improvised dance floor. At the bar, a burly man in his 30s named Rodrigo el Toro Mendoza drank beer after beer, celebrating with his friends a supposed victory in a street fight. Rodrigo was known in the neighborhood as a pocamta thug, someone who solved minor problems for local merchants in exchange for money.

He was almost 2 m tall, weighed more than 100 kg and had a reputation as a violent man who enjoyed bullying others. That night the alcohol had completely clouded his judgment. His friends encouraged him to show his bravery. challenging him to disturb a customer of the bar. Rodrigo, with the typical arrogance of someone who believes that the world belongs to him, began to walk between the tables looking for a victim for his next demonstration of power.

His eyes fell on Paul, who stood quietly in his corner, seemingly alone and vulnerable. To Rodrigo, that man of average height and ordinary appearance, he seemed the perfect target. He staggered over, holding a bottle of Club Colombia beer in his right hand.

Pablo’s bodyguards noticed the movement, but a discreet signal from their boss told them not to intervene yet. Paul wanted to see how far that situation would go. Rodrigo reached the table and without a word deliberately tipped the beer bottle over Pablo’s head. The golden liquid ran through his black hair, soaking his white shirt as silence took over the bar.

Everyone present held their breath. The musicians stopped playing. Time seemed to stop at that moment that would forever change Rodrigo Mendoza’s life. Paul remained motionless for several seconds that seemed eternal. He slowly wiped the beer from his face with a napkin, his eyes fixed on the bully who was now beginning to realize that something was not right.

 

The expression on the faces of the other customers, the sudden movement of several men getting up from their seats, the palpable tension in the atmosphere. Everything indicated that Rodrigo had just made a monumental mistake. One of Rodrigo’s friends, more sober than he was, finally recognized Pablo Escobar.

His face instantly paled and he whispered desperately the name that everyone in Medellín knew and feared. Rodrigo, still confused by the alcohol, took a few seconds to process the information when he finally understood the magnitude of his mistake. His legs began to shake. He had spilled beer on the head of the most dangerous man in Colombia, perhaps in all of Latin America.

Pablo stood up slowly, shaking the last drops of beer from his shirt. His expression was inscrutable, a mask of calm that hid the storm within. The bodyguards were already surrounding the scene waiting for orders. The owner of the bar, an older man named Don Julio, ran out of the kitchen when he heard what had happened, mentally praying that his establishment would not become the scene of a massacre.

Rodrigo tried to stammer an apology, but the words were stuck in his throat. Fear had completely replaced arrogance. His friends had already disappeared, leaving him to his fate. Pablo took a step forward, shortening the distance between them.

The silence in the bar was absolute, only interrupted by the sound of Rodrigo’s heavy breathing. Then, to everyone’s surprise, Pablo smiled. It was not a gentle smile, but an expression that had multiple meanings. None of them comforting. He placed his hand on Rodrigo’s shoulder with a pressure that, although not violent, conveyed a clear message of domination.

In a low voice, barely audible to those nearby, Pablo pronounced the words that would mark Rodrigo’s destiny. Tomorrow at 10 a.m. I’ll be waiting for you at the Hacienda Nápoles. Don’t miss it. If you don’t show up, I’ll find you anyway. And believe me, you’d rather have come of your own free will.

Then he turned around, walked towards the exit followed by his men, leaving behind a bar immersed in collective shock, and a Rodrigo Mendoza who had just understood that his life would never be the same again. Rodrigo did not sleep that night. He sat on the edge of his bed, in the small apartment he shared with his mother in the working-class neighborhood, contemplating the options before him.

he could flee, try to disappear in some remote town in Colombia or cross the border into Venezuela or Ecuador, but he knew that Pablo Escobar’s reach was practically limitless. Its tentacles stretched across the country and beyond. Running away would only delay the inevitable and likely make their situation worse. The other option was to show up at the Naples estate as he had been ordered, face the consequences of his stupidity and beg for mercy.

His mother, a humble woman who worked as a seamstress, noticed his anguish during the early morning. Rodrigo did not tell her the details, he only told her that she had to solve an important problem. She, with the maternal intuition that never fails, sensed that her son was in grave danger. She made him coffee and arepas for breakfast, while silent tears ran down her wrinkled cheeks.

At 6 in the morning, Rodrigo took a shower. He dressed in his best clothes, gray cloth pants and a white shirt that his mother had carefully ironed, and left his house not knowing if he would see her again. He took a bus to Puerto Triunfo, the nearest municipality, to the famous hacienda of Pablo Escobar. The trip took approximately 4 hours from Medellín.

Throughout the journey, Rodrigo observed through the window the Colombian landscape that paraded before his eyes. Green mountains, small villages, peasants working the land. He wondered if this would be the last time he would see all this. On the bus were families, merchants, students, all oblivious to the personal drama that Rodrigo was experiencing.

An old woman sitting next to him tried to start a conversation, but he barely responded in monosyllables, lost in thought. He remembered his childhood when his father, also a violent man, had taught him that in life you had to impose yourself by force. He now understood that this philosophy had led him directly to disaster.

When he arrived in Puerto Triunfo, Rodrigo asked how to get to the Hacienda Nápoles. The locals looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and pity. Everyone knew who owned the property and what kind of business was going on there. A taxi driver offered to take him to the main entrance.

During the short drive, the driver, a middle-aged man with a thick mustache, warned him, “Boy, I don’t know what business is taking you anymore, but be careful. Some enter from that hacienda and never leave.” Rodrigo nodded silently, paid the fare, and got out of the vehicle. In front of him stood the imposing entrance of the Hacienda Nápoles with his famous Piper PA18 plane mounted on the entrance arch, the same plane that Pablo had used in his first shipments of cocaine.

Two guards armed with AK47 rifles guarded the entrance. Rodrigo approached with his hands visible, trying not to make sudden movements. I come because Don Pablo summoned me. he said in a trembling voice. One of the guards spoke on the radio confirming the information. After a few minutes that seemed like hours, they told him to come in.

A jeep was waiting to transport him inside the property. As they advanced along the roads of the hacienda, Rodrigo could observe the magnitude of Escobar’s empire. There were luxurious buildings, artificial lakes and to their amazement exotic animals, elephants, giraffes, hippos, zebras. It was like being on an African safari in the middle of Colombia.

Pablo Escobar had turned that property of more than 3000 hectares into his personal refuge, a place where he could be the absolute king of his own kingdom. The jeep stopped in front of a colonial-style main house, surrounded by meticulously manicured gardens.

Rodrigo was led to a waiting room where other men, all with tense expressions, were also waiting to be received. Some were business partners, others employees, and probably some like him were there to account for some mistake. The hands of the clock advanced with torturous slowness.

Rodrigo observed every detail of the room. The paintings on the walls, the fine wood furniture, the polished marble floor, everything breathed power and richness. At 10 o’clock, a tall, thin man, dressed in a dark suit, appeared at the door and called his name. Rodrigo stood up, feeling that his legs were barely holding him.

It was time to face the consequences of his reckless act the night before. Rodrigo was led through a long corridor decorated with family photographs of Pablo Escobar. In it, the drug trafficker could be seen in everyday moments playing soccer with his children, hugging his wife María Victoria, posing with his exotic animals.

Those images showed a different side of the man the world knew as the most wanted criminal. Finally they arrived at a spacious office with large windows that offered a panoramic view of the hacienda. Behind a solid mahogany desk sat Pablo Escobar, dressed in casual clothes, jeans and a white T-shirt.

He smoked a cigarette while reviewing some documents. Standing next to him stood two of his trusted men, both with impassive expressions. The man who had guided Rodrigo withdrew, closing the door behind him. Pablo looked up and watched Rodrigo for several seconds without saying a word. Then he gestured to a chair in front of the desk.

“Sit down,” he ordered in a calm but firm voice. Rodrigo obeyed, feeling how sweat ran down his back despite the air conditioning that kept the room cool. Pablo put out his cigarette in a glass ashtray and leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands on his abdomen.

Rodrigo Mendoza, also known as the bull, began Pablo by showing that he had already researched it. 32 years old, born in the popular neighborhood of Medellín, son of Ramón Mendoza, who died in a bar fight 10 years ago and Lucía Mendoza, a seamstress, has a record of personal injury, disturbance of public order and minor extortion.

You work as a collector for some merchants in the sector using physical intimidation as your main tool. That’s right? Rodrigo nodded weakly, impressed by the amount of information Pablo had gathered in less than 12 hours. “Yes, sir,” he managed to articulate.

Pablo leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. Last night, in a moment of monumental stupidity, you spilled beer on my head in a public bar. Do you have any idea of the consequences that such an act would normally have? Rodrigo swallowed hard. Yes, sir, I’m so sorry. He was drunk and I didn’t recognize him. It was the biggest mistake of my life.

Paul smiled slightly, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. The biggest mistake of your life so far. Let me explain something, Rodrigo. I could make you disappear without a trace. It could cause you to suffer in ways you can’t even imagine. It might make your mom spend the rest of her days wondering what happened to her son.

All of that would be within my means and according to the rules of the world we live in, it would be justified. Rodrigo felt panic take hold of him. He began to visibly tremble. Please, Don Pablo, I beg you to have mercy. My mother has no one else. I will do whatever you ask me. I will work for you without charge.

I’ll be your slave if I have to, but please don’t kill me. Tears began to roll down Rodrigo’s cheeks. His entire hard-man façade had completely crumbled. Paul watched this demonstration of vulnerability with an inscrutable expression. After a silence that seemed eternal, he spoke again.

Get up, he ordered. Rodrigo obeyed awkwardly, standing up with difficulty. Pablo also got up and walked to the window with his back to her. I’m going to tell you something that very few people know. When I was young, about your age, I also made stupid mistakes. I once inadvertently insulted a powerful man in Medellín, someone who could have easily eliminated me. But that man, instead of killing me, gave me a chance.

He told me that we all deserve a second chance to show what we are really made of. Pablo turned to look directly at Rodrigo. I’m going to give you that same opportunity, but with very clear conditions. From today on you will work for me, not as a slave, but as an employee. You will receive a fair wage.

Your job will consist of basic security tasks, nothing related to the core business. You will be one of the many men who look after my property and my legitimate interests. But listen to me well. If you ever betray me, if you talk too much, if you make another error of judgment like last night’s, there will be no second chance. Understood? Rodrigo couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

He expected a death sentence and instead received a job offer. Yes, sir, understood. I swear on my mother’s life that I will not let you down. I will be the most loyal employee I have ever had. Paul nodded. I hope so. Now one of my men will explain your duties and take you to see the facilities. You start tomorrow.

And Rodrigo, one more thing. Stop drinking. A man who does not control his vices is a weak man and I do not employ weak men. Rodrigo was escorted out of the office. still processing what had just happened, he had entered the Hacienda Nápoles expecting to die and left with a new job and a new chance at life.

But I also knew that I had just entered a world from which it would be very difficult to get out. Rodrigo’s first few months working for Pablo Escobar were a complete revelation about how the empire of the world’s most famous drug lord really worked. he was assigned to a security team guarding one of Pablo’s urban properties in Medellín, an apartment building in the upscale El Poblado neighborhood.

His immediate boss was a man named Gustavo, a veteran of the organization with more than 10 years of service. Gustavo was a serious guy, of few words, but fair in his dealings with subordinates. On the first day, Gustavo explained the basic rules to her. Here are three fundamental principles: loyalty, discretion, and efficiency. If you meet those three, you will have a quiet and well-paid life.

If you fail in any of them, the consequences are definitive. There is no middle ground. Rodrigo took those words very seriously. He had stopped drinking completely, just as Paul had commanded. Every morning he woke up early, had breakfast with his mother, who was happy to see him more responsible and with a stable job, although she did not know exactly who her son worked for.

Rodrigo had simply told him that it was private security for an important businessman. Their routine consisted of 8-hour shifts guarding the building, controlling visitor access, making periodic rounds, and reporting any suspicious activity. The salary was considerably better than what he earned before as a neighborhood bully.

For the first time in his life, Rodrigo was able to help his mother financially in a significant way, pay bills on time, and even save some money. But most importantly, I was learning discipline and responsibility. During those months, Rodrigo had several opportunities to observe Pablo Escobar in his daily life.

The drug trafficker occasionally visited the building for meetings with associates or simply to check that everything was working properly. Rodrigo noticed that Pablo was meticulous in the details. He asked about the well-being of his employees. He remembered names and personal circumstances. He was a leader who inspired loyalty, not only out of fear, but also out of respect.

One afternoon Pablo arrived at the building accompanied by his children, Juan Pablo and Manuela, to collect some documents. The children played in the lobby while their father attended to business. Rodrigo watched as Pablo interacted with them. He was loving, patient, a devoted father. That image contrasted dramatically with the man’s reputation as a ruthless criminal.

It was a duality that Rodrigo found fascinating and disturbing at the same time. On another occasion, Rodrigo witnessed how Pablo handled a conflict between two of his employees who had had a disagreement. Instead of settling the problem with violence, Paul sat them both down, listened to their versions, and gave me a just solution that satisfied both sides.

Violence is the last resort, not the first. Pablo told the employees. We are an organization, not a street gang. Rodrigo also learned about Paul’s legitimate activities. The drug trafficker had invested millions in legal businesses, real estate, soccer teams, and building housing for the poor.

The famous Pablo Escobar neighborhood in Medellín, where he had built hundreds of houses for homeless families, was an example of how Pablo cultivated his image as a social benefactor. For many poor Colombians, Pablo was not a criminal, but a hero who had given them what the government never gave them. A decent roof. However, Rodrigo was not naïve. He knew perfectly well that behind that façade of philanthropy there was a brutal business that had caused thousands of deaths.

Although his work did not involve him directly in drug trafficking, it was impossible to ignore reality. Rumors were constantly circulating. Shipments intercepted, rivals eliminated, politicians murdered, judges threatened. Paul’s empire was sustained by acts of generosity as well as by rivers of blood. One day, Gustavo confided in Rodrigo during a break.

Look, boy, your luck. The boss forgave you because he saw something in you. I don’t know what, but something. I have seen men die for much lesser offenses. My advice is to do your job, collect your salary, take care of your mother and do not ask questions about things that do not concern you.

There are people here who have been working for years and are still alive precisely because they understand those limits. Rodrigo thanked the advice and followed it to the letter. He focused on being the best security employee he could be. He arrived on time, he never missed. He was courteous to everyone. He kept his work area spotless. Slowly he gained the trust of his superiors.

After 6 months he was promoted to shift supervisor, which meant a salary increase and more responsibilities. His mother was proud, though she still didn’t know the full details of his job. For her, her son had finally matured and found his way. But Rodrigo lived with a constant contradiction. On the one hand, he was grateful to Paul for giving him a second chance when he deserved death.

On the other hand, he knew that he was working for a criminal organization that his salary came indirectly from the suffering of thousands of addicts in the United States and Europe. He tried to justify it by saying that he only did security, that he did not participate directly in drug trafficking, but deep down he knew that he was part of the gear of that machine.

One night, while making his rounds, Rodrigo stopped in front of a mirror in the lobby of the building. He observed his reflection. He was no longer the drunken, arrogant bully he had been. He was wearing a clean uniform. He was sober. It had a purpose. But at what cost? He had simply traded one criminal way of life for another.

These questions tormented him on sleepless nights, but during the day he buried them deeply and continued with his work because he knew there was no turning back. It was a sunny Saturday in July when Pablo Escobar decided to visit the popular neighborhood, precisely where Rodrigo had grown up. The news spread like wildfire.

The boss would personally come to supervise the construction of a soccer field that he had promised to the community months ago. For the inhabitants of the neighborhood, this was a monumental event. Pablo Escobar was seen as a benefactor, someone who cared about the poor when the government had forgotten them. Rodrigo was assigned to the security team that would accompany Pablo during the visit.

It was the first time he would work so closely with the boss at a public event. Gustavo gave him precise instructions. Your job is to observe the crowd, identify potential threats, maintain a secure but discreet perimeter. Pablo wants to interact with people. He doesn’t want us to look like an occupying army.

But keep your eyes peeled. There are many who would like to see the boss dead. When Pablo arrived in the neighborhood in a caravan of underground vehicles, he was greeted like a rock star. Hundreds of people crowded to see him, touch him, thank him. Mothers would lift their babies for Paul to bless. Children shouted his name. Old people cried with emotion.

It was a surreal scene that Rodrigo watched in amazement. Pablo got out of the vehicle dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt and sneakers. Her signature outfit for these occasions. He smiled broadly, greeted everyone, took pictures, listened to requests. He had brought with him bags full of money that he distributed among the neediest families.

50,000 Colombian peso bills that for those people represented the difference between eating or going hungry for weeks. The construction of the field had already begun days ago, but Pablo wanted to be present for the symbolic laying of the first stone of the stands.

He had hired the best builders, bought top quality materials. The field would have night lighting, bleachers for spectators, equipped changing rooms. It would be the best sports facility in the sector. All financed by drug trafficking money, although no one there wanted to think about that detail.

During the event, Pablo took a microphone and addressed the crowd. Brothers and sisters of the popular neighborhood, I am here because you are my people. I come from neighborhoods like this, I know the difficulties, the needs, the dreams. The government has abandoned us, but we will not abandon each other.

This field is for your children, so that they have a place to play, where they dream of being professional soccer players, where they stay away from vices and violence. I will continue to build schools, courts, houses, because you deserve it. The crowd erupted in applause and cheers. Pablo, Pablo, Pablo, they chanted. Rodrigo, from his position on the security perimeter, felt contradictory emotions.

I knew many of those people, I had grown up with them. I saw the genuine gratitude on their faces. To them, Paul was a hero. But Rodrigo also knew the whole truth. That money came from cocaine that destroyed lives in other countries, from the violence that had claimed thousands of victims.

It was a generosity built on a foundation of blood. During the ceremony, an old woman approached Pablo. It was Mrs. Mercedes, a neighbor Rodrigo had known since he was a child. She had lost her husband years ago and was living in extreme poverty. With tears in her eyes, she took Pablo’s hands and said, “Don Pablo, may God bless you for everything you do for us. You are a saint.

Paul with genuine humility replied, “I am no saint, ma’am.” I’m just a man who tries to help as best he can. After the official ceremony, Pablo stayed several more hours in the neighborhood. He visited houses, shared with families, played soccer with the children in a vacant lot.

Rodrigo watched everything, fascinated by Pablo’s ability to connect with ordinary people. There was no arrogance in his demeanor, there was no distance. It was as if he really was one of them, despite being a billionaire. At one point, Pablo approached where Rodrigo was. This is your neighborhood, isn’t it? he asked. Rodrigo was surprised that Pablo remembered him.

Yes, boss. I grew up here. Paul nodded. It’s a good neighborhood, hardworking and honest people. That’s why I like to help here. Tell me, is your mother still living in the sector? Yes, sir, three blocks from here. So after we are done here, we will go and visit it. I want to meet the woman who raised a man who had the courage to show up at my hacienda, knowing that he might die. Rodrigo felt a mixture of pride and nervousness.

An hour later, Pablo, accompanied by Rodrigo and two bodyguards, knocked on the door of Lucía Mendoza’s humble apartment. The woman almost fainted when she saw who was at her door. Pablo entered naturally, praising the cleanliness and order of the home. He accepted a red wine that Lucía prepared with trembling hands. They talked for 20 minutes about everyday issues, the cost of living, her health, and memories of the neighborhood.

Before leaving, Pablo discreetly left an envelope with money on the kitchen table. So that you can buy something nice, Mrs. Lucia. And thanks for the coffee, it was delicious. When Pablo left, Lucía opened the envelope and found 2 million pesos, more money than she had seen together in her entire life. she hugged her son crying, not knowing if those tears were of happiness or fear for the world in which Rodrigo had become involved.

That night, Rodrigo reflected on what he had witnessed. Pablo Escobar was a living enigma, capable of ordering brutal murders and at the same time making a poor old woman cry with happiness. He was loved and feared in equal measure. And Rodrigo, who had started out as a victim of his own stupidity, was now part of that complex and contradictory universe.

Months passed and the war between the Medellín cartel, led by Pablo Escobar, and the Cali cartel, headed by the Rodríguez Orejuela brothers and José Santa Cruz Londoño, intensified, what had begun as a commercial rivalry, had become a bloody conflict that claimed lives weekly. Rodrigo, from his position in the organization, began to feel the repercussions of that war.

Security measures had tripled. Now there were constant checkpoints, frequent changes of location, coded communications. The atmosphere of tension was palpable. Gustavo explained the situation to him during a security meeting. The Cali cartel is trying to eliminate our key operators. They have already killed several of our partners in Bogotá and the coast.

They are using different tactics than we are. They bribe police, infiltrate informants, use professional hitmen. They are more discreet, but just as lethal. We must all be on high alert. One night, while Rodrigo was standing guard in the village building, he received an urgent call from Gustavo. Code red. Possible imminent threat in your location.

Reinforcements on the way. Keep your eyes open and don’t let anyone in who isn’t on the authorized list. Rodrigo felt the adrenaline flood his system. He checked his weapon. a .38 caliber revolver that he carried in his waistband and alerted the other two guards on duty. They turned off the lights in the lobby to have better visibility to the outside.

The minutes passed with agonizing slowness. Then Rodrigo noticed a suspicious vehicle parked across the street. It was a gray Renault 9 with two occupants watching the building. It wasn’t a neighborhood car. Rodrigo immediately reported by radio. Suspicious vehicle in the north position.

Two male occupants. Unidentified license plates. Gustavo’s response was immediate. Don’t confront them. Maintain defensive positions. Reinforcements at 2 minutes. But then something unexpected happened. The two men got out of the vehicle carrying long weapons, AK47 rifles.

They began to walk towards the building with clearly hostile intentions. Rodrigo understood that they didn’t have 2 minutes. I had to act now. All on deck, he shouted to his companions. Just at that moment, the attackers opened fire on the façade of the building. The deafening sound of automatic gunfire filled the night.

The windows of the lobby exploded into a thousand pieces. Rodrigo and his companions returned fire from protected positions behind columns and furniture. It was the first time Rodrigo had participated in a real shootout. The training I had received was automatically activated. He breathed steadily, aimed accurately, fired sparingly to conserve ammunition.

The attackers, surprised by the armed response, sought refuge behind their vehicle. The exchange of gunfire continued for what seemed like hours, but in reality it was barely 2 minutes. Then the reinforcements arrived, three vehicles with heavily armed men from Pablo’s organization.

The attackers, outnumbered and outgunned, tried to flee but were hit. One died at the scene, the other was captured, wounded. When silence finally returned, Rodrigo checked his body for wounds. Miraculously, neither he nor his companions had been hit, although the building had suffered considerable damage.

Gustavo arrived minutes later, evaluated the situation and congratulated Rodrigo. Good job, boy. You kept calm and protected the position. The skipper will find out about this. The captured attacker was interrogated that same night under pressure. he confessed that he was a hitman hired by the Cali cartel. Their mission was to attack Pablo Escobar’s properties in Medellín in retaliation for similar operations that the Medellín cartel had carried out in Cali.

It was an endless cycle of violence and revenge. The next day, Pablo personally visited the building to assess the damage and speak with the security team. When he reached Rodrigo, he shook his hand firmly. They told me that you acted with courage and professionalism. That’s exactly what I expect from my people.

You will receive a special bonus and a promotion. I need men like you in positions of greater responsibility. Rodrigo thanked the words, but inside he felt a mixture of emotions. He had killed a man that night, or at least participated in his death, though it was in self-defense and doing his job, the weight of having taken a human life was beginning to settle into his consciousness.

That night in his apartment, Rodrigo couldn’t sleep. I watched the scene of the shooting over and over again. He wondered who the man who had tried to kill him was. Did he have a family, children? Or was he just another unscrupulous criminal? The line between good and evil, which had once seemed clear to him, was now blurred and blurred. His mother noticed his altered mood. What’s the matter, son? I see you worried.

Rodrigo could not tell her the truth. Nothing, Mom, just tiredness from work. But Lucia, with her maternal intuition, knew that something deeper was happening. She prayed that night for her son’s safety, asking God to protect him from the dangers she sensed, but did not fully understand.

The cartel war would continue to escalate in the months that followed, and Rodrigo would find himself increasingly deeply involved in a conflict that had no end in sight. Despite the constant war with the Cali cartel and pressures from the Colombian and U.S. governments, Pablo Escobar always found time for his family. His daughter Manuela was about to turn 7 years old and Pablo had decided to organize a spectacular party at the Hacienda Nápoles.

Rodrigo was selected as part of the security team for the event. An honor that indicated the trust Pablo had placed in him after the shooting incident. Preparation for the party began weeks in advance. Paul spared no expense when it came to his children.

He hired the best entertainers in Medellín. He ordered the construction of a giant inflatable castle. He brought a small circus complete with clowns, jugglers and even a magician. There were tables full of food, suckling pig, tamales, empanadas, tropical fruits and, of course, a five-tier cake decorated with Disney characters. On the day of the festival, the Hacienda Nápoles was transformed into an amusement park.

More than 200 guests arrived, family, close friends, children of trusted employees and some children from poor neighborhoods that Pablo had personally invited. It was important to him that his daughter grew up with a social conscience, that she understood that there were less fortunate children.

Rodrigo observed everything from his position on the security perimeter. Seeing Pablo Escobar, the most wanted man in the world, playing with children, painting his face, laughing without worries. It was an image that contrasted violently with the reality of his criminal empire. At that time, Pablo was simply a loving father celebrating his daughter’s birthday.

Manuela, a beautiful girl, with dark hair and bright eyes, was clearly her father’s princess. Pablo carried her in his arms, fulfilled her every whim, looked at her with absolute adoration. María Victoria, his wife, was also present supervising that everything went perfectly.

She was an elegant and discreet woman who had chosen to remain by her husband’s side despite knowing the nature of his business. During the party, something happened that Rodrigo would never forget. One of the invited children, a little boy of approximately 5 years old from the popular neighborhood, timidly approached Pablo and said, “Mr. Pablo, my mom says that you are like Robin Hood, who takes from the rich to give to the poor.

“It’s true. Pablo knelt down to be at the boy’s level and responded with a smile. Well, champ, I’m just trying to help people in need, but don’t worry about those things now. Today is a day to have fun. Have you tried the cake yet? The boy nodded excitedly and ran back to the other children.

Paul thought for a moment, as if reflecting on his own legend. Then he continued with the celebrations. In the middle of the afternoon, Pablo gathered all the children for the time to open the presents. Manuela received dozens of gifts, imported dolls, bicycles, designer clothes, electronic toys, but the most special gift came at the end. Paul had sent for a white pony, a beautiful animal with mane.

Manuela screamed with excitement and hugged her father with all her strength. Thank you, Daddy. It’s the best gift in the world. Paul had tears in his eyes. For my princess, only the best. But then, in a gesture that surprised everyone, Manuela approached the poor children who were at the party and said, “Everyone can ride my pony whenever they want. It’s for sharing.

Pablo smiled proudly. His daughter had learned the lesson of generosity. As the party continued, Rodrigo was briefly relieved to take a break. He sat under a tree watching the scene. I thought about the paradox of it all. There was Pablo Escobar, responsible for thousands of deaths, for the addiction of millions, for the corruption of entire institutions, but also a loving father, a devoted husband, a benefactor of the poor.

How could both realities coexist in the same person? Gustavo sat down next to him. I know what you’re thinking,” the veteran said. “We all go through that when we have been working for the boss for a long time. You see his human side and wonder how he can be the same person who orders executions?” The truth is that the pattern is complex, like all of us. The difference is that he operates on a much larger scale.

His acts of kindness are monumental, but so are his acts of violence. Rodrigo nodded. Do you ever regret working for him? Gustavo reflected before answering. Repentance is a luxury we cannot afford. We are here for better or for worse. The only thing we can do is do our job to the best of our ability and try to keep our humanity intact.

It’s not easy, but it is what it is. The party continued until nightfall. As the guests began to leave, Paul personally said goodbye to each family, making sure everyone brought bags of food and small gifts. Poor children also received envelopes with money for their parents.

It was Paul’s way of making sure that his generosity extended beyond the event. That night, while Rodrigo was returning to Medellín in one of the organization’s vehicles, he thought of Manuela and all the children who had enjoyed that magical party. He wondered what future awaited them. growing up in a world where the line between good and evil was so blurred, where love and violence coexisted in the same space.

He had no answers, just more questions that would keep him up another night. It was a rainy afternoon in October when an important politician from Bogotá discreetly arrived at one of Pablo Escobar’s properties in Medellín. Rodrigo was on duty that day and witnessed an encounter that would reveal even more to him about how power really worked in Colombia.

The politician, whose name Rodrigo never knew for sure, but who acknowledged having seen him on television, arrived in a vehicle without official license plates, dressed in casual clothes so as not to attract attention. He was a man in his 50s with gray hair and a nervous expression. He was clearly not comfortable with that clandestine meeting.

Pablo received him in a private room. Rodrigo and other guards were instructed to maintain the perimeter, but not to get too close. However, the voices occasionally rose high enough to hear snippets of the conversation. Don Pablo, you know that I have always been your friend,” said the politician in a pleading tone. I voted in favor of your interests in Congress.

I have blocked extradition initiatives. I have done everything he asked of me. Paul’s response was calm, but firm. And I have financed their campaigns. I have mobilized votes in his favor. He he he has made me win elections that I would have otherwise lost, but now I need him to do something else.

The pressure from the Americans is mounting. I need you to present a bill that completely reforms the extradition treaty. I need assurances that I will never be sent to an American prison. The politician responded in a trembling voice. That is very difficult, Don Pablo. The U.S. government is pushing hard.

The president is under international scrutiny. If I present that project, my political career will end. There was a tense silence. Then Pablo spoke and although his tone was still calm, there was a nuance. His political career exists because I allow it. I have documents, photographs, recordings of all our transactions.

If those documents made it to the press, he would not only end his career, he would end up in prison. So I suggest that you find a way to do what I am asking of you. The politician began to sob. Please, Don Pablo, have mercy. I have a family, children. If you expose me, they will suffer the consequences too. Paul’s voice softened slightly.

It is precisely because you have a family that you must cooperate. I do not want to destroy you, Mr. Congressman. You have been useful to me and I hope you will continue to be so, but I need you to understand that this is not a negotiation, it is an instruction. Present the bill, use all your influence to move it forward. In return, you will continue to receive my financial and political support.

His family will be protected and his future secured. But if he fails me, the consequences will be severe. After almost 2 hours, the politician left the meeting with a defeated expression, got into his vehicle, and quickly left. Pablo came out moments later, lit a cigarette, and called Gustavo. Rodrigo was nearby and could hear the conversation. “That man is weak,” Pablo said dismissively.

“But it’s useful. Put discreet surveillance on him and his family. I want to know who he’s talking to, where he’s going, what he’s doing. If he shows signs of wanting to betray me, I want to know immediately. Gustavo nodded and left to organize the surveillance. Pablo noticed Rodrigo’s presence and signaled for him to come closer. Did you hear anything about the conversation?” Pablo asked directly.

Rodrigo hesitated for a moment, but decided to be honest. Some fragments, boss. Not intentionally, Pablo nodded. It is ok. In fact, it’s good for you to understand how this country really works. That man who just got out of here is a respected congressman. He appears on television talking about ethics and justice, but privately he comes to kneel before me because he knows who has the real power.

You know why? Because power does not come from official titles or positions. Power comes from money, from information, and from the willingness to use both without scruples. Rodrigo listened attentively. Pablo continued. The Colombian government is rotten from within. Politicians, judges, police, military, they all have a price. Some are more expensive than others, but they all sell out.

I simply play the game better than anyone else and as long as they pretend to rule, I will really rule from the shadows. It was the first time that Pablo spoke so openly with Rodrigo about his philosophy of power. But, boss, Rodrigo dared to ask, he is not afraid that one day all this will collapse.

The Americans are not going to give up, and there is more and more international pressure. Pablo smiled, but it was a joyless smile. Of course I know. Nothing lasts forever. But while it lasts, I’m going to make sure that my family is protected, that the people who have been loyal to me are taken care of, and that those who betray me pay the price. That’s my code, Rodrigo.

Loyalty for loyalty, betrayal for destruction. Then he changed the subject abruptly. How is your mother? The question took Rodrigo by surprise. Good, boss. Thanks for asking. The money you gave him that day changed his life. He was able to get some medical treatments he needed. Pablo nodded satisfied. I’m glad to hear that.

The men who work for me should have peace of mind. If they are worried about their families, they cannot concentrate on their work. That is why I take care of the families of my people. It is a smart investment, but it is also the right thing to do. That night Rodrigo reflected on what he had witnessed.

The meeting with the politician had shown him the true extent of Pablo Escobar’s power. He was not just a drug trafficker, he was someone who had infiltrated the highest echelons of the Colombian government. He had congressmen, judges, and police officers on his payroll. It was a state within the state.

Rodrigo was beginning to understand that he had entered a world much more complex and dangerous than he had initially imagined. He was no longer just a security employee, he was part of a machinery that pulled the strings of power in Colombia. And even though Paul treated him well, even though he paid him handsomely, Rodrigo knew he was trapped. There was no easy way out of that world.

Once inside Pablo Escobar’s organization, getting out alive was almost impossible. Almost two years had passed since that fateful night at the bar when Rodrigo spilled beer on Pablo Escobar. By that time, Rodrigo had risen through the ranks of the organization. He earned well. His mother lived comfortably, and he had developed skills he never imagined he had.

But the price of it all began to weigh more and more heavily on his conscience. One morning, Rodrigo received an emergency call. He was to present himself immediately at a warehouse on the outskirts of Medellín. When he arrived, he found a scene that deeply disturbed him. There were three men bound and gagged on the ground. Gustavo and other security members were present.

These three are informants, Gustavo explained with a serious expression. They have been passing information to the Cali cartel about our operations. Because of him, we lost a shipment worth $5 million and two of our men were killed in an ambush. The boss has ordered its execution. You will participate. Rodrigo felt that the world was stopping.

It was one thing to defend property in a shooting, to act in self-defense. It was quite another to execute defenseless men in cold blood no matter what they had done. Gustavo, I don’t know if I can do this. Rodrigo said in a trembling voice. Gustavo looked at him harshly. It’s not a request, Rodrigo, it’s an order.

The employer wants to know that they can completely trust you. This is a test of loyalty. All of us here have been through this at some point. It’s part of belonging to the organization. Rodrigo observed the three men on the ground. One of them, the youngest, would not be more than 25 years old. Tears were streaming down her face.

His eyes begged for mercy. Rodrigo thought about his own mother, about how she would feel if he were in that position. There’s no other way, he asked desperately. They can’t just let them go with a warning. Gustavo shook his head. Betrayal has only one punishment in this world. If we let them go, others will think they can betray us without consequence.

This is necessary to maintain order. Now take the gun and do what you have to do. They extended a pistol with a silencer to him. Rodrigo took her with trembling hands. He approached the first man, the youngest. Their eyes met. In that look Rodrigo saw absolute terror, but also resignation.

The man knew there was no escape. Rodrigo aimed the gun, but his hand was shaking so much that he couldn’t hold it steady. Sweat ran down his forehead. His breathing was agitated. Seconds passed that seemed like hours. Finally he lowered the weapon. “I can’t do it,” he said in a broken voice. I’m sorry, but I can’t murder a defenseless man.

If that means that I am no longer good for the organization. So be it, but I can’t cross this line. The silence in the cellar was absolute. The other men present looked at Rodrigo with expressions that ranged from contempt to something that could be respect. Gustavo sighed deeply. “Wait here,” he ordered and left the warehouse to make a phone call.

Rodrigo stood there still holding the gun, knowing that he had probably just signed his own death warrant. If Pablo Escobar considered his refusal as treason or weakness, he would not see the dawn. After 15 distressing minutes, Gustavo returned. The boss wants to see you now. Rodrigo was transported to one of Pablo’s safe houses.

When he entered the office, he found Pablo sitting behind his desk smoking thoughtfully. “Sit down,” Pablo ordered without looking at him. Rodrigo obeyed, preparing for the worst. Paul finally looked up. “Gustavo, he told me what happened. Did you refuse to execute the traitors?” Yes, boss, I’m sorry, but I couldn’t do it. I know that probably means my end, but I couldn’t cross that line.

Paul watched him for a long time. Then, to Rodrigo’s surprise, he nodded slowly. Do you know what irony is? That I respect your decision. There are many men who would kill without thinking twice, without feeling anything. These men are useful, but they are also dangerous because they have no internal boundaries. You have a moral line that you are not willing to cross, even knowing the consequences. That speaks of character. Rodrigo couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

So, isn’t he going to kill me? Paul shook his head. No, but you can’t continue in your current position either. I can’t have someone on my security team who isn’t willing to do what is necessary when the situation calls for it. However, I have another job for you. You’re going to oversee the construction operations of the homes I’m building for poor families.

It’s legitimate, well-paid work, and doesn’t require you to compromise your moral principles. Accept? It was a departure that Rodrigo never expected. Yes, boss, I accept. And thank you for understanding. Paul stood up and walked to the window. Rodrigo, I’ve done terrible things in my life. I have ordered deaths. I have caused suffering.

I do it because in this business weakness is punishable by death. But I don’t enjoy violence. I see it as a necessary tool. Nothing else. The fact that you can’t use it doesn’t make you weak, it makes you different. And I need different people in my organization as well, not just killers. Rodrigo left that meeting with a new job and a new perspective.

The three traitors were executed that night by other members of the organization, but Rodrigo did not have to participate. he had kept his humanity intact, though he knew that the price of working for Pablo Escobar, even in a legitimate capacity, remained his silent complicity with everything else that was going on.

That night Rodrigo told his mother that he had changed jobs within the same company, that he would now supervise construction. She was happy that her son was in something less dangerous. Rodrigo did not tell her how close he had been to death, nor the moral dilemma he had faced.

Some secrets were better to carry alone. Years passed, the war against Pablo Escobar intensified to unimaginable levels. The search bloc, the Pepes, the Cali cartel, all came together with the common goal of eliminating the most powerful drug trafficker in the world. Rodrigo, from his position in the construction department, watched as Pablo’s empire slowly crumbled.

Property was confiscated, partners killed or captured, drug trafficking routes dismantled. Pablo went from hiding place to hiding place, increasingly cornered. Rodrigo saw him on a few occasions during that period. The man who had once been the king of Medellín now looked emaciated, paranoid, prematurely aged by stress. But even in those circumstances Paul continued to care for his people.

He made sure his employees’ families were protected and financially secure. On December 2, 1923, Rodrigo was supervising the construction of some houses in the popular neighborhood when he received the news on the radio.

Pablo Escobar had been killed in an operation in the Los Olivos neighborhood of Medellín. The man who had defied governments, who had built a criminal empire worth billions of dollars, who had been loved and hated in equal measure. He had died on the roof of a house trying to escape once again. Rodrigo felt a mixture of emotions. Sadness, relief, confusion. Paul had been their savior and their condemnation.

She had given him a second chance when he deserved death, but she had also trapped him in a world of violence and criminality, from which it was difficult to escape. With Paul’s death, the organization quickly disintegrated. Rodrigo, fortunately, was not pursued by the authorities.

Their involvement had been relatively minor and in mostly legitimate activities. He was able to continue working in construction independently, using the skills and contacts he had developed. The following years were of deep reflection for Rodrigo. Now, decades after that night at the bar, when he spilled beer on Pablo Escobar’s head, Rodrigo is a 60-year-old man.

His mother passed away a long time ago, but he lived his last years comfortably thanks to the money he was able to provide her. Rodrigo never married, never had children. He leads a simple life working occasionally on construction projects, living in the same working-class neighborhood where he grew up. He frequently visits the tomb of Pablo Escobar in the Jardines Montesacro cemetery.

There, in front of the tombstone that bears the full name of the drug trafficker, Rodrigo reflects on those extraordinary years of his life. Don Pablo, he whispers on those visits. To this day I regret what I did that night, not the act itself, but the chain of events it set off. You saved my life when you could have killed me.

It gave me opportunities that I would never have had otherwise, but it also showed me a world of violence and contradictions that marked my soul forever. You were a complex man, generous and cruel, loving and ruthless, visionary and destructive. I have never been able to reconcile those contradictions, either in you or in myself because I have been part of your world.

Rodrigo also visits the soccer field that Pablo built in the Popular neighborhood, the same one where he was present during its inauguration. Now it is deteriorated, in need of repairs, but it is still used by children in the neighborhood. He sits in the stands and watches the young people play, wondering what would have happened to his life if he had made different choices that night.

On frequent sleepless nights, Rodrigo mentally reviews all the key moments. The shootout where he killed a man, the day he refused to execute traitors, the conversations with Pablo, the contradictions of working for a criminal who was also a benefactor. He asks if he did the right thing, if he could have acted differently, if his life has any meaning beyond having been a footnote in the history of the world’s most famous drug lord.

Occasionally, Rodrigo gives talks in neighborhood schools, warning young people about the dangers of getting involved in the criminal world. He tells them his story by omitting the most compromising details, but being honest about the consequences of bad decisions.

A moment of stupidity tells them, “It can change the whole course of your life. I spilled beer on a man’s head without knowing who he was and that action defined the next years of my existence. I was lucky to survive, but many are not that lucky. Think before you act, especially when alcohol or arrogance clouds your judgment. The young people listen to him attentively, fascinated by someone who was so close to Pablo Escobar.

Some see him as a hero for having survived, others as a warning of what not to do. Rodrigo does not consider himself one thing or the other, he is simply a man who made a mistake. He got an unlikely second chance and has spent the rest of his life trying to figure out what it all means. In the afternoons, Rodrigo walks the streets of Medellín, a city that has changed dramatically since the days of Pablo Escobar.

It is now known as the city of innovation, of the metro, of urban transformation. Tourists visit places related to Pablo, turning the tragedy into a tourist attraction. Rodrigo observes all this with mixed feelings. On the one hand, he is happy that the city has overcome those dark years.

On the other, he is bothered by how the figure of Pablo is romanticized, how the thousands of victims of his violence are forgotten. One afternoon, a foreign tourist stops him on the street, noticing his age and assuming he might have stories from that time. Did you know Pablo Escobar?, asks the tourist with morbid curiosity. Rodrigo stares at him for a long time before answering.

Yes, I met him, but it’s not the romantic story you’re probably expecting to hear. Pablo Escobar was a man who caused immense suffering while simultaneously helping the poor. He was a living contradiction and all of us who were close to him carry those contradictions until today. The tourist, expecting exciting anecdotes, is disappointed by the philosophical answer and walks away. Rodrigo smiles sadly.

No one really wants to understand complexity. Everyone prefers simple narratives of heroes and villains. Now, in the twilight of his life, Rodrigo Mendoza, the bull, who was once an arrogant bully, lives with the weight of his decisions and the consequences of that moment of stupidity in a decades-old bar.

to this day he regrets not only having spilled beer on Pablo Escobar, but everything that came after, the lives lost, the blurred moral lines, the silent complicity with a criminal empire. But he also acknowledges that the experience transformed him from a violent and purposeless man into someone who at least tries to do something positive with the time he has left.

His repentance is eternal, but it is also his motivation to warn others, to tell his story as a warning, to make sure that his monumental mistake at least serves as a lesson. for future generations. And so Rodrigo continues to live, carrying his memories, his regrets and the strange gratitude towards the man who could have killed him, but chose to give him a second chance.

The same man, whose memory continues to divide opinions in Colombia and the world. Pablo Emilio Escobar Gaviria.