Lucia's face hardened, but she did not lower her gaze.
—Yes, I come from humble beginnings. My mother sold tamales outside the Hidalgo Metro station, and my father left us with debts instead of a family name. But I work, I study, and I treat people well. You work here just like I do. The difference is that I understand this uniform is for serving, not for humiliating.
Some customers turned around. Fernanda blushed.
Mateo felt a blow to his chest. No one had defended his dignity, thinking he was poor. No one.
Lucia turned towards him.
—Don't worry about the watch. The important thing is to find his wallet. Did he have any identification in it?
—Yes —Mateo murmured.
—Then let's go look for it. Maybe she dropped it when she got out of the car or on the sidewalk.
Without expecting a reward, Lucía asked the manager for permission, grabbed her jacket, and went out with him. They walked along the sidewalk of Masaryk Avenue, checking near the trees, under a bench, and even next to a storm drain. Evening was beginning to fall over the city, and the air smelled of rain and gasoline.
Lucía bent down, not caring about getting her black pants dirty. She turned on her cell phone's flashlight and looked among the dry leaves.
"You don't have to do this," Mateo said, feeling a burning guilt.
—Of course. A lost wallet is a serious problem. Money comes and goes, but finding ID, cards, and other documents is a nightmare.
Mateo looked at his hands, stained with dirt. This was no longer a test. It was cruelty.
He walked over to the old car he had rented for his disguise, opened the door, and pretended to check under the seat.
"Here it is," she said, holding up her wallet. "How embarrassing. It had fallen inside."
Lucia let out a breath and then laughed, tired.
—Oh, sir, I almost fell down the drain because of you.
Mateo smiled, but inside something broke.
—Let me treat you to some dinner, to make up for it.
—Thank you, but it's not necessary. Just take better care of your things.
Lucia returned to the store with her shirt a little dirty and her head held high.
That night, in his enormous house in Lomas de Chapultepec, Mateo reviewed Lucía Ramírez's employment file. Motherless. Father disappeared. Started university at twenty-four. Outstanding average. No family contacts.
Mateo closed the folder in shame.
He had wanted to test the heart of an employee without knowing that she had been surviving for years with hers in pieces.
And the next day, when Fernanda saw Lucia enter, she smiled with a blood-curdling malice.
She couldn't believe what was about to happen…
PART 2: on the next page.
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PART 2
"Look at that, the heroine of the poor has arrived," Fernanda said in front of everyone. "Did the homeless man already propose to you or did he just leave you a tip in coins?"
Mariana, another saleswoman, covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. The manager pretended not to hear. Lucía was arranging inventory boxes behind the counter and chose to remain silent.
But Fernanda didn't want silence. She wanted humiliation.
"Clean my display case too," she ordered. "You got dirty yesterday looking for trash, so I guess you're good at it."
Lucía swallowed. She wanted to answer, but she needed that job. It paid for a room in the Santa María la Ribera neighborhood, her overdue tuition, and the medication for Doña Elvira, a neighbor who had raised her like a daughter after her mother died.
