“No,” you say. “You destroyed trust. The company is just where the damage became measurable.”
He leans closer.
“I have employees.”
“So do I.”
“They have families.”
“So do mine.”
He lowers his voice.
“Please. Reinstate the contract for six months. Three months. Anything. I’ll apologize publicly if that’s what you want.”
You study him.
“You think an apology is a payment plan.”
His face hardens.
“What do you want from me?”
“The truth.”
He throws his hands up.
“Fine. I was rude.”
“No.”
“I was cruel.”
“Closer.”
He looks around, humiliated by the fact that two young employees are pretending not to hear every word.
You wait.
Finally, his shoulders drop.
“I thought you were beneath me,” he says.
There it is.
The bakery goes quiet in your chest.
Martin continues, voice rough.
“I thought because of how you looked, because you baked cakes, because Felipe never pushed back, because you smiled, that you were… easy.”
Your throat tightens.
“Easy to hurt.”
He looks at the floor.
“Yes.”
The truth does not heal you.
But it clears the air.
You nod once.
“Thank you for finally being honest.”
He looks up with desperate hope.
“So you’ll help me?”
“No.”
His face twists.
“But I told the truth.”
“Yes,” you say. “And now you get to live with it.”
He stares at you.
You continue.
“Here is the only help I will give you. Pay your employees first. Sell what you need to sell. Cooperate with the investigation. Stop blaming women for consequences created by your own mouth and your own hands.”
He laughs bitterly.
