PART 1
“If that man isn’t ordering, kick him out… he smells like the street,” the manager said, and everyone in the café pretended not to hear.
The rain was pouring down on the Roma neighborhood in Mexico City. Cars splashed black water along the sidewalk, people ran with jackets pulled over their heads, and inside the café, everyone hugged their hot cups as if looking away were a sign of decency.
At a table in the back, an older man was trying to charge an old cell phone. His jacket was soaked, his shoes were caked in mud, and his hands were shaking so much that the cable kept slipping from his grasp.
“Please… I just need one call,” he murmured.
The manager, Verónica Salcedo, looked at him with disgust.
“I already told you, sir. This isn’t a shelter.”
Mariana Ríos was in line, her wet hair plastered to her face, her head full of problems. Her mother was scheduled for spinal surgery in three weeks, but the private hospital had just sent her another notice: without an insurance update, there would be no admission.
Mariana worked at DataNova MX, a logistics analytics company in Polanco. She was a junior analyst, though she did the work of three people. Her boss, Verónica, had promised her that if the board approved her Aurora project, Mariana would receive a promotion and better benefits.
When she saw the old man forcing the cable into the phone jack, she couldn’t stay silent any longer.
“He’s going to break it even more,” she said.
Verónica turned around.
“Excuse me?”
Mariana approached the man and lowered her voice.
“Sir, may I check your cell phone? I work with systems and hardware. I’m not going to take it from you.”
He looked at her as if no one had spoken to him with respect in years.
“Everything’s there,” he said. “Everything I have left.”
“Then we’ll check it carefully.”
Mariana pulled a small case from her bag: tweezers, an anti-static brush, a flashlight, rubbing alcohol, and a portable battery. Verónica let out a mocking laugh.
“Sure, now we also repair trash on the table.”
Mariana didn’t even look at her.
“And bring him a coffee and a cake. I’ll pay.”
The old man watched silently as she removed dried mud from the charging port. When she connected the cable, the screen flickered. The battery icon appeared.
He covered his mouth with his hand.
“You don’t know what you just did.”
“I cleaned the port.”
“No,” he replied. “It restored a connection.”
Her cell phone lit up. The man dialed immediately.
“Nora, it’s me. Stop the voting. I still have the key.”
Mariana felt a chill, but she was already late. She ran to DataNova with the USB drive containing three months’ worth of work.
Upon arriving, Verónica locked her in her office.
“Give me the file.”
Mariana handed it over. Verónica opened Aurora, saw the charts, the projections, and the plan to save jobs by first cutting executive expenses, duplicate vendors, and unnecessary perks.
Then she erased Mariana’s name from the document.
“What are you doing?” Mariana asked.
“I’m presenting it tomorrow.”
“But it’s my job.”
Verónica smiled.
“It was your job. Now it’s management strategy.”
Mariana felt her chest sink.
“You promised me credit. My mom needs the surgery.”
“We all need something,” Verónica said. “If you talk, I’ll fire you. And then I’ll make sure no one in this industry ever hires you again.”
Mariana left the office with cold hands.
That night, while she was writing her resignation, her phone rang. Unknown number.
“Mariana,” said the old man’s hoarse voice. “Don’t resign yet.”
And then he said something that froze her to the bone:
“Go to work tomorrow. What Verónica stole isn’t going to stay buried.”
Mariana couldn’t believe what was about to happen…
