But inside Alejandro Cruz’s black Bentley, everything was cool and controlled, sealed off from the disorder outside. At thirty-eight, Alejandro seemed to have everything: he was the CEO of “Cruz Financial Group,” one of Europe’s top consulting firms, his wealth stretched into more zeros than he bothered counting, and his name was practically a brand for discipline and ambition.
Even so, the gridlock tested what little patience he had.
“Tomás, I’m walking,” he told his driver, stepping out. “I need air—even if it’s boiling.”
His penthouse was only a few blocks away. A short walk might clear his mind before next week’s high-stakes merger with investors from Singapore. His life was always like that—planned, optimized, efficient.
He moved quickly through tourists and scaffolding, mind buried in projections and strategy—until a voice near a supermarket entrance stopped him cold.
“Ethan, don’t run! Noah, help your brother with the bag. And Lucas, tie your shoes, please.”