Chapter 7
Chapter 7: The Truth Reigns
When Gabriel strode into the main dining room, the string quartet was playing a joyful Sonata. The crisp clinking of glasses and the lively chatter filled the space.
But when they saw the man of the hour appear—not with a flute of Champagne in his hand, but carrying a dirty plastic tray with a bowl of cold soup—the noise began to die down.
Gabriel ignored the stunned, staring eyes. He walked a straight line to the long center table. The musicians sensed the abnormal atmosphere; the violins faltered and then slowly fell entirely silent. The entire room plunged into a tense, heavy silence.
Isabel and Patricia rushed in after him, their faces as white as sheets of paper, their usually graceful steps now frantic and clumsy.
Gabriel reached the head of the table. He shoved a wildly expensive bottle of Bordeaux and a plate of salmon caviar out of the way, creating an empty space. The sound of crystal glasses crashing together made several ladies jump and cover their mouths.
He slammed the bowl of cold, greasy soup and the leftover bread down onto the pristine white silk tablecloth, sitting it aggressively right next to the pure silver cutlery. The harsh contrast was agonizing to look at.
Gabriel turned around, facing dozens of eyes that were wide with shock. He took a deep breath.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said. His voice was no longer the smooth, diplomatic tone of a businessman, but the resonant, booming voice of an awakened man. "Please look closely. This is dinner. The dinner that members of my family served my own mother, hiding her in a dark corner of the kitchen next to a sink, at the exact same moment you all sit here, feasting on delicacies and toasting to my success."
A dead, icy silence enveloped the room. One could hear the crackling of the candle wicks. Politicians lowered their wine glasses. Socialites looked at each other in bewildered shock. Nobody dared to cough; nobody dared to move.
Gabriel continued, every word slicing through the hypocritical atmosphere like a blade.
"A few minutes ago, someone in this room called me a 'Self-made man.' I declare before all of you: That is a blatant, shameless lie!"
He pointed toward the kitchen doors. At that moment, Doña Rosario slowly stepped out, standing huddled in the doorway, tears streaming down her wrinkled cheeks. She didn't dare lift her head.
"I am not self-made! I was created, molded by the flesh and blood of the woman standing right there! A woman who starved for hundreds of meals so I could sit in a classroom. A woman who scrubbed thousands of public toilets, carried heavy buckets of water until her back broke, and aged decades before her time, just so I could have the opportunity to wear this suit and stand before you today!"
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Gabriel pointed sharply at the bowl of cold soup.
"And to repay her, on my day of glory, my wife and my sister-in-law fed her this, because they believed her rough hands would soil this magnificent table. They believed the presence of the greatest mother in the world was a disgrace!"
