The building’s executive floor was designed to intimidate.
Glass walls. Marble floors. A view so high above the city that the people below seemed like mere moving dots. It was here that life-changing decisions were made—most often without those making the decisions ever seeing the faces of the people involved.
That afternoon, a long conference table was surrounded by men in tailored suits. The coffee cups remained untouched. The computer screens glowed. Numbers scrolled across a huge wall screen.
And near the door stood a woman with a mop in her hand.
Her name was Rosa.
She had learned to make herself small.
Years of cleaning these kinds of offices had taught her the rules: only speak if spoken to, avoid eye contact, and be as invisible as possible. She moved silently, cautiously, like someone afraid of breaking something far more fragile than glass.
Her son stood beside her.
Barefoot.
Her shoes had been worn out for weeks, and Rosa was waiting for her next paycheck to replace them. She hadn’t wanted to bring them that day—but the babysitter had canceled, and missing a day of work wasn’t an option. Rent never waited. Neither did hunger.
So his son stood there, his toes resting on a marble slab that was probably worth more than anything they owned.
The billionaire sitting at the end of the table noticed it first.
He leaned back in his armchair, a smile slowly forming on his face, the smile of a man bored enough to amuse himself with whatever was at hand.
« Well, it looks like we have a guest, » he said in a loud voice.
Laughter rippled through the table.
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