“Today.”
“Send me the address.”
“You understand this is a difficult client?”
Luía smiled.
“I’ve cleaned houses with three dogs, five children, and a grandmother who threw slippers at me.”
“This is different.”
“How different?”
The woman on the other end was silent.
“Thirty-seven employees have already left.”
Luía stopped smiling.
“Thirty-seven?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know everything.”
“Are the children violent?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“Nobody stays.”
Luía looked at the clock.
“I’ll go.”
Two hours later, she stood outside the enormous wrought-iron gates of the Mendoza Albuquerque mansion.
She looked almost absurdly ordinary standing there.
White blouse.
Worn jeans.
Old sneakers.
A faded backpack.
Curly hair pulled into a loose bun.
No expensive handbag.
No makeup.
No polished appearance.
Just a young woman carrying herself with surprising calm.
The gate opened.
She walked inside.
From an upstairs window, six faces appeared.
Mariana stood in front.
