PART 1
“In this store we don’t serve people who look like they’ve just come from the subway,” Fernanda said, without lowering her voice.
The man who had just entered stood motionless in front of the glass door of a luxury watch shop on Presidente Masaryk, in Polanco. He was wearing a faded gray t-shirt, worn jeans, and sneakers so old that anyone would have thought he'd come to the wrong place.
But he had not been wrong.
That man was Mateo Herrera, owner and CEO of Grupo Herrera, one of Mexico's most exclusive watch brands. Only no one at that branch knew it. Tired of meetings, fake dinners, and bought smiles, he had decided to enter one of his own stores dressed as someone invisible.
I wanted to know how they treated those who didn't appear to have money.
Fernanda, the most conceited saleswoman in the place, looked him up and down as if he had stained the marble floor.
—If you're just coming to ask about prices, I'd better tell you right now: they're expensive.
From the other counter, Lucía looked up. She was twenty-seven years old, her hair simply pulled back, and she possessed a calmness that seemed unmanageable. She put down the cloth she was using to clean a vintage watch and approached.
—Good afternoon, sir. Welcome. Would you like me to show you a model?
Mateo pointed to a watch with a rose gold case and a black leather strap.
—That one looks interesting.
Fernanda let out a giggle.
—That one costs more than his car, if he even has one.
Lucía ignored her. She put on white gloves, opened the display case, and began explaining the mechanism, the design history, the craftsmanship done in Querétaro, and the limited number of pieces available. For twenty minutes, she treated him as if he were the most important customer of the day.
Mateo watched her in silence. There was no pity in his gaze. Nor feigned interest. Only respect.
"I'll take it," he finally said.
Fernanda approached immediately, her eyes wide open.
-Sorry?
Mateo put his hand in his back pocket. Then in his front pocket. Then on his chest. He frowned.
—It can't be… I think I lost my wallet.
The silence fell like a stone.
Fernanda burst out laughing.
—I knew it! See, Lucia? All because of playing at being Mother Teresa. This man only came to waste our time.
Lucia took a deep breath.
—Fernanda, stop. He's a customer.
"Customer?" Fernanda spat. "He's a starving wretch. And you, of course, defend him because you recognize each other. You come from the bottom too, don't you? From those neighborhoods where people think that just being nice is enough to get them a chance."
Lucia's face hardened, but she did not lower her gaze.
—Yes, I come from humble beginnings. My mother sold tamales outside the Hidalgo Metro station, and my father left us with debts instead of a family name. But I work, I study, and I treat people well. You work here just like I do. The difference is that I understand this uniform is for serving, not for humiliating.
Some customers turned around. Fernanda blushed.
Mateo felt a blow to his chest. No one had defended his dignity, thinking he was poor. No one.
Lucia turned towards him.
—Don't worry about the watch. The important thing is to find his wallet. Did he have any identification in it?
—Yes —Mateo murmured.
—Then let's go look for it. Maybe she dropped it when she got out of the car or on the sidewalk.
Without expecting a reward, Lucía asked the manager for permission, grabbed her jacket, and went out with him. They walked along the sidewalk of Masaryk Avenue, checking near the trees, under a bench, and even next to a storm drain. Evening was beginning to fall over the city, and the air smelled of rain and gasoline.
Lucía bent down, not caring about getting her black pants dirty. She turned on her cell phone's flashlight and looked among the dry leaves.
"You don't have to do this," said Mateo, feeling a burning guilt.
—Of course. A lost wallet is a serious problem. Money comes and goes, but finding ID, cards, and other documents is a nightmare.
Mateo looked at his hands, stained with dirt. This was no longer a test. It was cruelty.
He walked over to the old car he had rented for his disguise, opened the door, and pretended to check under the seat.
"Here it is," she said, holding up her wallet. "How embarrassing. It had fallen inside."
Lucia let out a breath and then laughed, tired.
—Oh, sir, I almost fell down the drain because of you.
Mateo smiled, but inside something broke.
—Let me treat you to some dinner, to make up for it.
—Thank you, but it's not necessary. Just take better care of your things.
Lucia returned to the store with her shirt a little dirty and her head held high.
That night, in his enormous house in Lomas de Chapultepec, Mateo reviewed Lucía Ramírez's employment file. Motherless. Father disappeared. Started university at twenty-four. Outstanding average. No family contacts.
Mateo closed the folder in shame.
He had wanted to test the heart of an employee without knowing that she had been surviving for years with hers in pieces.
And the next day, when Fernanda saw Lucia enter, she smiled with a blood-curdling malice.
She couldn't believe what was about to happen…
PART 2: on the next page.
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