It was 1993. At 25 years old, Gustavo Escobar had become the undisputed figure of Santa Marta. Despite his youth, the young leader had built an empire as vast as it was silent, combining cunning, brutality, and a Machiavellian sense of order. His lieutenants, loyal and experienced, followed him with blind devotion—among them, Mateo, 23, a ruthless strategist, and José, known as "El Tigre," 24, renowned for his street ferocity and unwavering loyalty.
Gustavo's rise wasn't solely the result of inherited power or violence; he had also made bold moves in legitimate business, wielding a firm hand and a clear entrepreneurial vision. His accumulated fortune was staggering: about one billion dollars in diversified legal investments and nearly six billion from drug trafficking and other illicit activities. But unlike many capos who unleashed bloody wars, Gustavo kept Santa Marta in a state of tense calm.
The city seemed oblivious to the chaos drug trafficking unleashed in other parts of the country. Children ran freely through the streets, impoverished neighborhoods had access to social aid, and violence had been tamed through an iron order imposed from the shadows.
Gustavo had expanded his private army to nearly two thousand men—almost 3% of the city's population. These soldiers patrolled the streets, ensured the drug business—from labs to soft, medium, and hard distribution—ran smoothly, and controlled illegal gambling and prostitution. But they also protected neighborhoods, keeping rival gangs and petty criminals at bay.
In the midst of this world of power and violence, Gustavo had found refuge in his personal life. Three years earlier, he had married Mariana, the most beautiful young woman in Santa Marta. Mariana came from a humble but honorable family. Her bond with Gustavo had grown stronger after he paid for her ailing grandmother's surgery—a gesture that marked the beginning of a carefully guarded love, far from the public eye.
To Gustavo, Mariana was more than a wife; she was a symbol of his commitment to the city he now ruled, and a reminder that, despite his life in the underworld, there was a part of him that longed for something more human, more stable.
In his main office, Gustavo reviewed the latest moves in his operations. The construction of a tourist complex in the northern zone was progressing rapidly, generating legal profits and effectively laundering illicit funds. The agro-industrial business was also growing, with plantations and cattle ranches covering a significant portion of the Magdalena region.
Mateo and "El Tigre" entered with two detailed reports. Security along the drug routes was assured, and new contacts with legal exporters were opening doors to expand operations.
"We're in a position to negotiate with the Pacific coast cartels," Mateo reported. "They want to use our routes for their product. We could ask for up to 15%."
Gustavo nodded with his usual calculated calm.
"Perfect," he said. "But don't forget—we're the ones in charge here. There can't be a single misstep."
On the streets, voices demanding justice or crying out in fear had been silenced. In the poorest neighborhoods, community centers funded by Gustavo provided food and education to hundreds of children, keeping them away from the temptations of street life.
Everything seemed perfect, until—hidden in the shadows—some began moving their pieces, preparing to challenge the young patrón.
But for Gustavo, that was another story. One not yet ready to be told.