Alejandro turns to him. “After shift?”
“Yes, sir. Just some follow-up. She’s had inconsistencies.”
It is a lie. You know it. Rogelio knows it. Alejandro knows it because his eyes sharpen in a way you are beginning to recognize.
“Bring me the logs,” Alejandro says.
Rogelio hesitates. “Sir?”
“The discrepancies. Bring them.”
The pause stretches.
Then Rogelio mutters, “Of course,” and walks off stiffly.
Alejandro looks back at you. “Does he do that often?”
You shouldn’t answer.
Nothing good comes from telling ownership how mid-level supervisors grind workers down in the margins where policy technically isn’t being broken. But the truth is sitting there between you now, and you are suddenly too tired to dress it up.
“Yes,” you say. “Not just to me.”
His expression closes over itself.
That should satisfy you, but instead it makes you nervous. Powerful men always look most dangerous when they get quiet.
The next morning Rogelio is gone.
No announcement. No dramatic firing on the floor. His office window is empty, clipboard gone, family photos missing, desk cleared with surgical speed. In warehouses, rumor travels faster than forklifts. By ten a.m., everyone knows he has been “placed on administrative review.” By lunch, Marisol claims she heard from security that payroll complaints, retaliatory scheduling, and missing overtime approvals are involved.
You say nothing.
But you keep feeling the echo of Alejandro’s face when you told him yes.
That afternoon Deborah pulls you aside after shift.
“Before you panic,” she says, which is an alarming way to begin anything, “this isn’t disciplinary.”
You follow her into a small conference room near security where a man in a checked blazer stands by the window, reviewing notes. He turns when you enter. Mid-forties, warm eyes, expensive shoes made deliberately less noticeable than they are.
“Camila, this is Nathan Bell,” Deborah says. “Director of the Ibarra Foundation.”
You blink. “He has a foundation.”
Deborah almost smiles. “He has several. This is the one relevant to you.”
Nathan steps forward and offers his hand. You shake it cautiously.
“I’ll get right to it,” he says. “Mr. Ibarra wants us to expand our workforce stability initiative beyond emergency response. Housing access, transit burden relief, domestic violence assistance, educational grants, and supervisor accountability systems. Not just here. Across all regional sites.”
You stare.
Something in you immediately pushes back.
“Why are you telling me?”
Nathan glances at Deborah, then back to you. “Because he wants your input.”
You laugh aloud this time. You can’t help it. It jumps out of you sharp and incredulous.
“My input.”
