PART 1
“In this store we don’t serve people who seem to be coming out of the Metro,” Fernanda said, without lowering his voice.
The man who had just entered stood still in front of the glass door of a luxury watch shop in Presidente Masaryk, in Polanco. He was wearing a faded gray shirt, worn jeans and tennis so old that anyone would have thought he had made a mistake in place.
But he was not wrong.
That man was Mateo Herrera, owner and CEO of Grupo Herrera, one of the most exclusive Mexican watch brands in the country. Only no one in that branch knew. 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 seem to have money.
Fernanda, the most presumed vendor of the place, looked up and down at him as if he had stained the marble floor.
“If you come to ask prices just, I’d better tell you right now: they’re expensive.
From the other counter, Lucia looked up. He was twenty-seven years old, his hair collected with simplicity and a calm that did not seem manufactured. He left the cloth with which he cleaned a collection watch and approached.
Good afternoon, sir. Welcome. Would you like me to show you any model?
Mateo pointed to a watch with rose gold case and black leather strap.
That one looks interesting.
Fernanda let out a chuckle.
“That costs more than your car, if you have.
Lucia ignored her. He put on white gloves, opened the showcase and began to explain the mechanism, the history of design, the craftsmanship done in Querétaro and the limited number of available pieces. For twenty minutes he treated him as if he were the most important customer of the day.
Matthew watched her in silence. There was no pity on his gaze. Nor feigned interest. Just respect.
“I’ll take him,” he said at the end.
Fernanda immediately approached, her eyes open.
“Sorry?”
Mateo took his hand to the back pocket. Then to the striker. Then to the chest. It frowned.
“It can’t be… I think I lost my wallet.
The silence fell like a stone.
Fernanda let out a laugh.
“I knew it! See, Lucia? For playing Mother Teresa. This gentleman only came to waste our time.
Lucia took a deep breath.
“Fernanda, enough. He’s a customer.
“Client?” Fernanda spit out. He’s a starving one. And you, of course, defend it because they recognize each other. You’re coming from below, too, right? Of those colonies where people believe that being kind is already worth a chance.
Lucia’s face hardened, but she did not look down.
“Yes, I come from below. My mom sold tamales outside the Hidalgo Metro and my dad left us debt instead of a surname. But I work, study and treat people well. You work here just like I do. The difference is that I understand that this uniform is to serve, not to humiliate.
Some customers turned around. Fernanda turned red.
Matthew felt a blow to his chest. No one had defended his dignity thinking he was poor. Nobody.
Lucia turned to him.
Don’t worry about the clock. The important thing is to find your wallet. Did he bring IDs?
“Yes,” Matthew murmured.
“Then let’s get her. Maybe he fell off when he got out of the car or on the sidewalk.
Without waiting for a reward, Lucia asked the manager for permission, took her jacket and went out with him to the street. They walked along the Masaryk bench, checked near the trees, under a bench and even next to a laundry. The afternoon began to fall on the city and the air smelled of rain and gasoline.
Lucia crouched without caring to get the black pants dirty. He lit the lamp on his cell phone and checked between dry leaves.
“You don’t have to do this,” Mateo said, feeling a guilt that burned him.
“Of course I do. A lost wallet is a serious problem. The money comes and goes, but taking out INE, cards and papers is martyrdom.
Matthew looked at his earth-stained hands. That was no longer a test. It was cruelty.
He walked into the old car he had rented for his disguise, opened the door and pretended to check under the seat.
“Here he is,” he said, lifting his wallet. What a shame. He had fallen inside.
Lucia let out the air and then laughed, tired.
“Oh, sir, I almost got into the laundry for you.
Matthew smiled, but inside something broke.
Let me buy you some dinner, to make up for it.
Thank you, but you don’t have to. Just take better care of your things.
Lucia returned to the tent with a little dirty shirt and head up.
That night, in his huge home in Lomas de Chapultepec, Mateo reviewed the labor file of Lucia Ramírez. Orphaned mother. Father missing. University started at twenty-four. Outstanding average. No family contacts.
Matthew closed the folder with shame.
She had wanted to taste the heart of an employee without knowing that she had been surviving with hers torn to pieces for years.
And the next day, when Fernanda saw Lucia enter, she smiled with an evil that frosted the blood.
I couldn’t believe what was about to happen…
