Chapter 2 - The Uninvited Guest
The main living room of the mansion was a masterpiece of opulence. Italian leather sofas, a sixty-inch curved television, high-end marble countertops, and half-empty bottles of imported tequila lined the dining table.
Around twenty guests—local politicians, real estate investors, and Roberto’s high-society friends—were standing in small groups, laughing and discussing property investments.
At the center of the room stood Roberto.
He wore a tailored Italian suit, his hair slicked back, a cigar between his fingers. He was holding court, gesturing grandly with his glass.
"Yes, hard work pays off!" Roberto was boasting to a local city councillor. "I built this firm from the ground up over the last three years. My brother? Ah, poor guy, he’s just a simple worker at sea. Doesn't have the vision for real business. I look after him, of course, but a man of my caliber—"
The heavy glass entry doors slammed against the walls with a thunderous crack.
The music was instantly cut off by someone near the sound system. The room fell into an awkward, sudden silence as twenty pairs of eyes turned toward the entrance.
Gabriel stepped into the brilliant light of the chandelier.
He was covered in dirt. His eyes were wild, red-rimmed, and lethal. In his left arm, he held a tiny, frail child wrapped in a grease-stained jacket. With his right hand, he held the trembling, thin wrist of a woman wearing a torn robe, her feet bare and filthy.
The contrast between the room's dazzling luxury and the desperate squalor of the woman and child was blinding.
Roberto’s cigar fell from his mouth, landing on the plush ivory carpet.
"Gabriel...?" Roberto croaked, his voice losing all its smooth confidence.
The guests began to whisper among themselves, looking back and forth between the grand host and the terrifying, dirt-stained man standing in the doorway.
"Roberto," Gabriel said, his voice carrying clearly across the silent ballroom. "You told me you were going to treat my wife like a queen."
Roberto wiped a bead of cold sweat from his forehead, looking nervously at the city councillor beside him. "Gabriel! Brother! You’re back early! Why didn't you call? Look at you, you must be confused after your long flight—"
"I asked you a question, Roberto," Gabriel interrupted, taking three slow, heavy steps forward. The guests quickly backed away, clearing a path for him. "I sent you one hundred thousand pesos every single month. One million two hundred thousand pesos a year. Three point six million pesos in total."
Gabriel raised his foot and slammed it onto the glass coffee table in the center of the room.
CRASH.
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Tempered glass shattered into thousands of glittering pieces, sending champagne flutes tumbling to the floor. Several women screamed, scrambling toward the exit.
"Where is my money, Roberto?!" Gabriel roared, the sound echoing off the high ceilings like a thunderclap. "Where is the house I built for my family?! Why was my wife eating out of your trash?!"
