Upstairs, on the top floor, Jimena returned to her office. The adrenaline was starting to subside. The hotel had returned to its usual rhythm: suitcases rolling, phones ringing, employees working.
Mariana said goodbye to finalize the details of the lawsuit. Jimena stood alone, gazing at the city through the window.
She felt something new in her chest: lightness.
For years she had carried the burden of the lie, the suspicions, the pain of looking the other way. That night, finally, she had let it all out.
The office phone rang.
“Yes?” she answered.
“Jime,” said her partner’s voice, “they just confirmed the deal for the hotel in Guadalajara. If we sign this week, it’ll be our fourth.”
She smiled.
“Perfect. Tell me everything.”
Six months later, Jimena stood before another red ribbon, scissors in hand. Her fourth hotel was opening that morning, with press, investors, and cameras everywhere. The Belmont Reforma had become the jewel of her small empire, famous for its elegance… and its discretion.
Beside her, carefully reviewing the program, was Nadia. A beige business suit, a name tag that read “Marketing Director.”