Her small hands tightened around her backpack, knuckles turning pale. Her breathing changed—faster, uneven.
Victor didn’t miss a single detail.
He had seen fear before. Real fear. The kind that didn’t come from imagination—but from experience.
And this was it.
“Answer me,” Victor said, his voice low but firm.
Esteban forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time.
“Sir, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. Payroll issues happen sometimes, you know how—”
“I asked a simple question.”
The lobby felt colder.
Esteban swallowed. “If she missed previous days, policy states—”
“Policy?” Victor cut him off. “You’re talking about policy while she’s working sick?”
Esteban shifted slightly, uncomfortable now. “We run a business, sir. There are rules—”
“And fear is one of them?”
That hit.
Hard.
For a brief second, Esteban said nothing.
Victor stepped closer.
“You don’t just underpay them,” he continued quietly. “You make sure they stay quiet.”
“That’s not true,” Esteban snapped, a little too quickly.
Victor didn’t react.
Instead, he turned slightly… toward Ximena.
“What are you afraid of?” he asked gently.
Silence.
The kind that stretches.
The kind that fights to stay hidden.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said:
“He yells… a lot.”
