Page 14

“Si,” another confirms. “It was a chance for something better. Or so we thought.”

The air feels heavier now, thick with unspoken stories of hardship and fear. I can almost see the shadows of the lives they’ve left behind, the desperation that drove them into the arms of my brother’s empire. I’ve known power and I’ve known privilege, but I’ve never known a courage quite like theirs.

“How long have you been in the country?” I asked, leaning to hear them better.

One woman’s eyes narrow as she scrutinizes me, her arms crossing defensively over her chest. “Why do you wanna know so much, huh?” Her voice is sharp, a knife slicing through the uneasy silence. “Aren’t you Juan’shermana?”

The weight of my family’s legacy presses down on my shoulders. A bead of sweat trickles down my spine, leaving a shiver of revulsion in its wake.

“I am,” I admit, not breaking eye contact. “But I’m not privy to all the details of our family’s business. I just want to understand your situation.”

“Could be a trick,” the skeptical woman warns, her gaze never leaving mine. “Don’t forget who she is.”

“Look, I’m not trying to trick anyone,” I insist, my voice firm but laced with frustration. However, I do understand theirconcern. Why would they trust me, the sister of the man responsible for their plight?

After a tense moment that stretches too long, another woman speaks up.

“Seis meses,” she says quietly. Her eyes don’t meet mine, instead are fixed on the cracked pavement at our feet.

“Six months…” I repeat softly. “How much do you still owe?”

A different woman answers, her voice hollow, “Veinticinco mil.”

“Twenty-five thousand?” My voice rises incredulously. The numbers don’t add up in my head. “But it was supposed to be ten thousand per person, right?”

She nods, but there’s a bitterness in her eyes as she explains. “My daughter came with me. They started us at twenty thousand. Ten each.” She swallows hard, and I can see the pain etched into the lines of her face. “They charge us for caring for our children while we work. We don’t get to see them until we’re debt-free.”

A cold rage coils in my stomach, tightening with every word.

“Have any of you seen your children since you got here?” I demand, already dreading the answer.

Their collective silence speaks volumes.

“Increíble,” I hiss under my breath, thinking of Juan’s greed. “You should be paying down your debts, not owing more than when you arrived!”

“Juan doesn’t care about us,” one woman mutters, defeat lacing her tone. “We will be working forever.”

“Maybe not,” I say, anger simmering hot beneath my skin. I lock eyes with each of them, willing them to believe me. “I’ll talk to him. I’ll find out about your children.”

“Gracias,” another woman whispers, her gratitude wrapped in layers of skepticism. “At least someone will try.”

Their resigned faces haunt me as I stand up, dusting off my slacks. They’ve been chewed up by the gears of Juan’s empire, spat out as collateral damage in his pursuit of power. I’ve had family loyalty drilled into me since the day I was born, but now it’s beginning to falter. I can’t look away the way I used to, not when Juan’s forcing me to participate in this mess. Loyalty to family isn’t worth the price these women pay every single day. This conversation only serves to renew my desire to escape Juan’s clutches as soon as possible.

I glance at the battered silver watch on my wrist, an heirloom from myabuela. The second hand ticks away with relentless urgency. It’s time for the workers to shuffle back into the warehouse, their brief respite over. And it’s also nearing the hour when I’m due at Velvet, where I’ll trade my time for crumpled dollar bills.

I haven’t worked out the details yet of how I’ll juggle two jobs without arousing suspicion from Juan or Pedro. I can’t leave the family compound permanently until my pockets are heavy enough, so I’ll need to devise a plan to keep both lives separate, invisible to each other. It will be tricky, but I have to find a way.

With a deep breath, I push through the metal door and re-enter the warehouse. I’m immediately assaulted by the acrid scent of chemicals, sweat, and despair. I stride with feigned confidence toward Pedro’s office, my mind racing to fabricate a believable excuse.

“Pedro,” I begin, leaning against the doorframe of his meticulously organized space, “no me siento bien. I need to leave early today.” My voice carries a hint of vulnerability I rarely allow myself to show. I place my hands over my abdomen and grimace.

He looks up, concern etching his features. “Should I call someone? A doctor?”

“No, I just need to lay down for a while.”

“Are you sure?” When I nod, he adds, “Okay, go. Take care of yourself.”

“Please, don’t mention this to Juan,” I implore quietly, playing up the fragility just enough to be convincing.