“This isn’t cruelty,” Mateo replied. “This is education. Some people are born to serve. Others are born to be served.”
He turned to Elena, who was trying to disappear into the wall.
“Your mother—do you know how much she earns scrubbing toilets?”
The boy shook his head.
“Tell him, Elena,” Mateo said coldly. “Tell your son what your dignity sells for.”
Elena opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Tears streamed down her face.
“You won’t tell him? Fine. I will.” Mateo smiled. “Your mom earns in a month what I spend on one dinner. Amazing how this world works, isn’t it?”
“Better than Netflix,” Gabriel laughed, pulling out his phone. “We should film this.”
“Already am,” Leonardo Márquez, 54, waved his device. “The club group chat will die laughing.”
The boy’s expression was changing. Beneath the shame, something cold and controlled was igniting behind his eyes.
“Now, back to our little game,” Mateo said, turning to the safe. He patted the steel like a pet. “This beauty cost three million dollars. Just the safe cost more than your mother will earn in a hundred years.”
“Then why offer money for something impossible?” the boy asked quietly.
Mateo’s smile faltered. “What?”