“I’m leaving, boss…” the employee begged, her voice choked with tears. “Please don’t report me. I have three children who depend on me; I won’t cause you any more trouble.”

But Don Arturo raised one hand firmly.

—Nobody moves from here.

His tone wasn’t a shout. It was a dark whisper, laden with an authority that made Miranda back away. The businessman walked slowly to the kitchen island, took the manila folder from his wife’s hands, and opened it. There were 15 pages filled with legal clauses, security camera footage showing Carmelita leaving with bags, and a preliminary divorce petition. Everything was calculated.

“How long have you been planning this garbage?” Arturo asked, throwing the papers on the floor.

“Enough to protect what’s mine,” Miranda replied, crossing her arms. “I’m not going to let my children grow up watching us support the parasites of this country. Throwing away my food is my right.”

That damn phrase. My food. Parasites. It was the spark that ignited everything.

“You haven’t worked a single day in your life, Miranda,” Arturo said, approaching her until he had her cornered against the wall. “This house, this food, and even the shoes you’re wearing, were paid for with the 12 hours a day I spend working, and the sweat of the humble people we pay to clean up your mess.”

He pointed towards the hallway, where Mateo, Sofia and Leo were watching everything.

“They’ve already decided what kind of human beings they want to be. They’d rather starve than lose their humanity. If you walk through that door with that complaint… you’ll be walking away alone. And I swear on my life I’ll spend every last penny on the best lawyers in this country to make sure you don’t get a single peso or a single minute of custody of my three children.”

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