You turn back. “Again?”
She swallows. “Last time he locked her in a room because she was sick and a guest complained.”
Shock spreads.
“That’s a lie,” Esteban snaps.
You don’t look at him. “Children don’t lie well. They tell the truth too loudly.”
Ximena continues, voice steadier now. Her mother was sick, still working, afraid of losing her job. Threatened. Pressured. Punished for slowing down.
The illusion of the hotel begins to crack.
You lift a hand. “Get security footage. All of it. Now.”
Then, softer, to Teresa: “Stay with the child.”
Ximena grips your sleeve. “Don’t leave my mom.”
“I won’t,” you say.
You turn to Esteban. “Take me to her.”
He hesitates.
You step forward, calm but certain. “You can walk me there, or I can bring investigators and open every door in this building.”
For the first time, he falters.
“I don’t know who you think you are,” he says.
You almost smile.
“That’s because men like you never learn the names of the people above you.”
Recognition hits him.
And just like that—
the power shifts.
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