PART 1
“I don’t want to marry you anymore.”
The moment I heard Mauricio’s voice from behind the wooden partition between the entrance and the private room, I froze. I was only twelve minutes late, still in my coat, my phone in my hand, my mind still on a call that had ended seconds earlier. Since becoming a partner, being late has become the most normal thing in the world—not because I was careless, but because I had to deal with a constant stream of failed deals, emergency negotiations, and clients who pretended everything was fine while their companies were on the verge of collapse.
The restaurant in Polanco was all Mauricio style: dim lighting, immaculate tables, heavy glasses, and waiters dressed to ignore everything. It was cold in November outside. Inside, the smell of grilled meat, expensive wine, and money-bought comfort wafted through the air.
I was walking to the table when I heard it again.
I don’t know… I almost feel sorry for him. Pathetic…
This time the laughter was unmistakable.
Rodrigo. Sofia.
People I spent weekends with. Birthdays. Trips. Dinners I arrived exhausted, with just enough smiles to make me listen more than speak. Our friends, I thought—until that thought dissipated before it could properly settle.
I didn’t move. I stood still, as I always do when a client is hiding the truth, and I know something worse is going to happen.
I’m thirty-four years old and I work as a corporate lawyer specializing in financial restructuring. I visit companies teetering on the brink of collapse and look for ways to keep them afloat. I’ve spent years negotiating with desperate banks, suppliers, and investors. I know what a damaged structure looks like, even if it looks perfect at first glance.
And suddenly I understood something painful:
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