Laura Mendoza was accustomed to everything in her world functioning with absolute precision.
She owned a successful real estate empire and had become a multimillionaire before the age of forty. Her life unfolded among glass offices, luxury hotels, million-dollar meetings, and decisions that could change entire neighborhoods.
In her world, there was little room for excuses.
People delivered.
Or they left.
That morning, however, something had finally tested her patience.
Carlos Rodríguez, the man responsible for cleaning her office for the past three years, had been absent again.
Three absences in a single month.
Three.
And every time, the explanation had been the same.
“Family emergency, ma’am.”
Laura frowned as she adjusted her blazer in front of the mirror.
“Family?” she muttered. “In three years, he has never mentioned a single child.”
Her assistant, Patricia, stood near the desk holding a folder.
“Ma’am, Carlos has always been responsible. Maybe something really is—”
“I don’t need another story, Patricia.”
Laura picked up her purse.
“I need employees who show up.”
Patricia hesitated.
“Should I call him?”
“No.”
Laura turned toward her.
“Give me his address.”
Patricia looked surprised.
“Are you going personally?”
“I want to see with my own eyes what kind of ‘emergencies’ he has.”
A few minutes later, the address appeared on Patricia’s screen.
847 Los Naranjos Street.
San Miguel neighborhood.
Laura forced a cold smile.
She already knew what she expected to find.
Excuses.
Disorganization.
Maybe someone taking advantage of her generosity.
Thirty minutes later, her black Mercedes was slowly moving along a dirt road.
The skyscrapers of the city were far behind.
Now there were stray dogs wandering between small houses, children playing in puddles, and old buildings with paint peeling from their walls.
People stopped and stared at the expensive car.
Laura noticed.
She didn’t care.
She stepped out.
Her heels sank slightly into the mud.
She clenched her jaw and walked toward a worn blue house.
The number 847 was barely visible beside the door.
The wooden door was cracked.
Laura knocked.
Once.
Twice.
Nothing.
Then she heard hurried footsteps.
A baby’s cry.
