“There’s one more thing, Dad…” Mateo whispered, taking off his heavy private school backpack.

The boy opened it, turned it upside down on the pristine quartz kitchen island, and shook it. Two ham and cheese sandwiches, an apple, and a juice box fell out. Sofia and Leo did exactly the same. Six sandwiches, three pieces of fruit, and three juice boxes piled up on the table. Everything was untouched.

—We give it to Carmelita every day at 2 in the afternoon when we get back… —explained little Sofia, with teary eyes— …so that she can take it to her children.

Don Arturo felt like he couldn’t breathe. He grabbed the edge of the table to keep from falling.

“And what do you eat during recess at school?” he asked, dreading the answer.

The three of them lowered their gaze at the same time.

—Nothing, Dad. We drank one glass of water from the drinking fountain.

His own children. The heirs to an empire of 12 luxury restaurants. Silently going hungry for eight hours a day, enduring the emptiness in their stomachs so that three other children in some impoverished neighborhood wouldn’t starve to de:ath. Don Arturo remembered the director’s call two months ago, warning that the children were losing weight. He remembered Miranda dismissing him with a simple: “It’s a growth spurt, Arturo, don’t exaggerate.” And he remembered his own negligence in prioritizing work over investigating.

He walked slowly and knelt next to the employee, staining his pants worth thousands of pesos with the sauce from the floor.

“Tell me the whole truth, Carmelita,” he pleaded.

She lifted her face. Her eyes were swollen and her soul was broken.

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