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“Five minutes isn’t a lunch break, it’s barely enough time to breathe,” I observe, crossing my arms over my chest. “You’re the manager, Pedro. They would work better with more time to rest.”

He hesitates, the lines of his face etching deeper with conflict. “Isabella, you know how Juan is…”

“Juan isn’t here, Pedro. You are.” I stand firm, unwavering. “These people aren’t machines. Give them a proper lunch break.”

Pedro’s gaze shifts to the workers, then back to me, the weight of responsibility pulling at his shoulders. “Fifteen minutes,” he finally concedes. “I’ll see if productivity goes up.”

“Thank you,” I say, my relief almost palpable. “And think about thirty minutes in the future. Twelve-hour shifts demand at least that much.”

As I turn away, a flicker of pride warms me, mingled with anger at the injustice of it all. These workers are pawns in a game they never chose to play, and I’m caught in the middle, struggling to find a way to escape my family and yearning for freedom.

“Pausa para el almuerzo de quince minutos,” Pedro calls, announcing the fifteen minute lunch break. Several workers look up, surprised.

I trail behind a small group of women workers as they shuffle toward the exit, their steps slow from hours of laborious toil. Outside, the relentless sun beats down on the cracked pavement of the parking lot. I blink against the glare.

“Mind if I join you?” My voice feels alien in the stifling air, too polished, too out of place among these weary souls.

They exchange wary glances, their skepticism as palpable as the heat radiating off the concrete.

“¿Por qué?Why would you want to eat with us?” one of them challenges, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

I flash what I hope is a warm and inviting smile. “Just looking for some company,” I lie smoothly. In truth, I’m desperate to peel back the layers of this operation, to understand the depth of the darkness we’re all drowning in.

They hesitate but eventually nod, gesturing to an empty spot on the curb beside them. I settle down, the rough edge of the concrete digging into my thighs through the fabric of my elegant slacks—a stark reminder that I don’t belong in this world. In truth, nobody should be a part of this. I want tounderstand why these women are here. This can’t be something they chose unless they were truly desperate.

Renata, her face lined with the kind of fatigue that sleep can’t cure, turns to me, a flicker of hope igniting in her tired eyes. “Isabella, have you… found out anything about Claudia?”

Her question stabs at me, guilt and frustration mingling in my chest. Claudia’s just a child, caught in the crossfire of greed and cruelty. If anything happened to her, I’ll never forgive my brother.

“I haven’t yet,” I admit, my throat tight. “But I won’t stop looking.”

“Gracias,” she whispers, the simple word heavy with gratitude and despair. She offers me a portion of her lunch, a homemade Mexican dish that reminds me of Abuela’s kitchen, of a time when life was about more than living in my brother’s shadow.

“Thank you, Renata. That’s kind of you, but I brought my own.” I pull out the modest lunch I prepared earlier, nothing like the feasts I once enjoyed without thought or care. It didn’t seem right to pack an extravagant lunch even though I could make one. Although I don’t have any money of my own, I can ask Juan’s assistants for anything within reason. They automatically purchase it for me unless it’s over a hundred dollars. Anything over that requires Juan’s approval.

As we eat in companionable silence, I can’t help but notice the contrast between us. Their hands are scarred from work, while mine remain unblemished. Their clothes are ill-fitting and stained with cocaine dust, while mine are clean and were carefully chosen to accentuate my curves. And yet, here we sit together, bound by the oppressive weight of the cartel’s chains.

I take a bite of my sandwich, the flavors bland compared to the rich aroma wafting from Renata’s meal. But it’s not the taste that matters, it’s the solidarity I’m trying to achieve. We share afleeting bond in this moment of respite, and I’m hoping it will help them trust me.

And as we break bread beneath the unforgiving sun, I make a silent vow to these women, to Claudia, to myself.I will bring justice to this place, no matter the cost.Even if it means betraying my own blood.

Waves of heat radiate off the concrete, turning the warehouse parking lot into a sweltering open-air prison. I shift uncomfortably on the makeshift bench, my gaze sweeping over the weary faces of the women as they savor their precious minutes of freedom.

“Does Juan pay you weekly for your work?” The question slips from my lips casually, as though we’re discussing nothing more than mundane job details over our sparse lunches.

A woman with hollow eyes and deep lines that speak of better days snorts derisively. “Pay? We only settle debts here,mija.”

Confusion wrinkles my brow. “Settle debts? What do you mean?”

She hesitates, her eyes darting around before she leans in closer. “The cartel… they brought us here, promised a way out of Mexico. Ten thousand dollars each, they claimed. A debt to be worked off.”

My heart clenches at her admission. “But did you know what kind of work you’d be doing? That you’d be cutting cocaine?”

An older woman chimes in, her voice dull with resignation. “We didn’t ask questions. You don’t when your life’s hanging by a thread.” She glances toward the shimmering horizon, as if seeing her past unfold there. “The last few years, our town became a battleground caught between rival cartels. If we didn’t find a way out, we’d die. We did what we had to, for our children.”

I swallow hard, the taste of my sandwich turning to ash in my mouth. Their reality is a stark contrast to my own sheltered upbringing within the cartel’s sprawling compound. Despite all the rules I had to follow, I never truly feared for my life, and I never went without. Until now, my life has never been a burden. It was nothing like theirs, and even now, being forced to work for the family, I’m still freer than they are.

“You had to take that opportunity to escape the war,” I murmur.