I FIRED MY EMPLOYEE INTO THE STORM FOR BREAKING AN HEIRLOOM, BUT WHEN I SAW THE SECURITY FOOTAGE, MY SOBS CHOKED ME
PART 1
CHAPTER 1: THE STORM AT THE SANDOVAL HACIENDA
The sky over Valle de Bravo seemed to have cracked open. It wasn’t just a seasonal rain; it was one of those furious storms that lash the mountains, where the water falls with such violence that it seems to want to wash away the sins of the earth.
Lightning ripped through the afternoon darkness, illuminating for fractions of a second the immense volcanic stone walls of the Sandoval Hacienda.
Lucas Sandoval drove his black Mercedes along the cobblestone driveway leading to the main entrance. His hands gripped the leather-wrapped steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. It had been a hellish day in Mexico City.
The board meeting had dragged on for five hours, the stock had fluctuated dangerously, and his head throbbed with that dull rhythm that precedes a migraine. All he wanted was silence.
He wanted to get to his sanctuary, pour himself a shot of añejo tequila, and forget that the empire his grandfather had built now rested entirely on his weary shoulders.
But peace was not waiting for him.
As he braked in front of the wrought iron gate, the car’s headlights cut through the curtain of rain and revealed something that made him stop dead in his tracks.
There, under the old oak tree that his great-grandfather had planted, stood a figure.
At first, Lucas thought it was a garbage bag or some garden furniture that the wind had blown away. But then the figure moved. He squinted, wiping the condensation off the windshield with the back of his hand.
She was a person. A woman.
“But what the hell…?” he muttered to himself, disbelief overcoming fatigue.
He opened the car door and instantly the roar of the storm invaded the cabin, drowning out the classical music playing on the stereo. The icy wind whipped at his face, soaking his designer shirt in seconds. He didn’t care. A sudden, hot rage rose in his throat.
He slammed the door and strode towards the tree, his Italian shoes splashing in the mud puddles that formed in the gravel.
“Maya!” he shouted, his voice competing with a rumble of thunder that echoed in the nearby mountains. “What the hell are you doing out here?”
The woman looked up. It was Maya, one of the maids. She was wearing the light blue uniform that Elena, the housekeeper, insisted all the employees wear. But now the uniform was darkened by the water, clinging to her slender body like a second skin.
Her black hair, normally pulled back in a neat bun, was disheveled, plastered to her face in soaking strands that dripped onto her eyelashes.
She sat on the twisted roots of the oak tree, her legs crossed in an awkward position, protecting something in her lap. Lucas moved closer, the rain blurring his vision.
What she was protecting was a cheap plastic Tupperware container. A spoon trembled in her right hand. She was eating.