Chapter 19 - The Golden Gloves
A dry thud echoed through the dining room. Margarita had dropped her mop in the corner. The silence was absolute, broken only by my frantic panting.
She walked slowly toward the table, her posture suddenly so imposing that the terrified guests automatically pushed their chairs back. She stopped exactly two meters from Carmen.
With cold, deliberate slowness, the maid peeled off the yellow rubber glove from her right hand. Then the left. She threw them onto the floor.
Beneath those gloves were two blindingly massive diamond rings—jewels worth more than this entire wretched house combined. She lifted her chin, her eyes slicing through Carmen and Diego like razors.
"You are absolutely right," my mother spoke, her voice radiating an authority that froze the blood in everyone's veins.
"I came here in poverty. Dressed as a maid. Just to see which one of you fools would dare lay a finger on my daughter."
Carmen stood paralyzed, her arm still half-raised. Fernanda dropped her phone, the screen shattering on the wooden floor.
"W-what is this nonsense?" Diego stammered.
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"Margarita, are you a thief?"
"If you ever call me a thief again, Diego," my mother said with terrifying calm, "I swear on my grandchild's life you will wake up in a maximum-security prison."
