“I know this looks bad, sir,” she said evenly, her voice calm in a way he had never heard before. She pressed a worn notebook against her chest like armor. “Please let me explain before you call the police… or fire me.”
Only then did Adrián notice the details he had always overlooked: her spotless uniform despite the late hour, fingers stained with blue ink, a cold cup of coffee abandoned beside her. She had been there a long time.
“That money isn’t mine,” she said quietly, meeting his gaze.
Adrián stepped forward, the floor suddenly feeling heavier beneath his feet.
“Then whose is it?” he asked hoarsely.
“I found it this morning,” she replied. “Hidden under the bed while cleaning. I swear—I didn’t take a single bill. I didn’t even consider it.”
The words hit harder than anger ever could.
Adrián didn’t keep cash. Everything in his life was digital—accounts, audits, transfers. His entire identity was built on transparency and control.
And yet here was a mountain of banknotes, rising like a buried truth he didn’t know existed.
He closed the door behind him. The click of the lock echoed like a verdict.