When a little girl in a yellow dress walks alone into the headquarters of a multinational corporation and says, “I’m here to interview my mom,” no one imagines what’s about to happen. What seems like an innocent gesture will reveal a hidden truth and force a powerful man to confront everything he pretended not to see for years.
Part of the elevator in Mexico City’s most imposing corporate building slowly ascended to the 35th floor. Each number that lit up on the digital panel seemed to mark the rhythm of the accelerated heartbeat of a very special little visitor.
Isabela Morales was only 8 years old, but she carried on her tiny shoulders a responsibility that would make any adult tremble. Her yellow dress, carefully ironed by her own hands the night before, contrasted dramatically with the cold, corporate atmosphere that surrounded her. In her arms, a worn leather folder, which seemed larger than she was, contained documents that would forever change the lives of many people.
When the elevator doors opened, the bustle of the lobby stopped as if someone had pressed the pause button on the remote control of life. The employees, used to seeing only executives in impeccable suits and important visitors, didn’t know how to react to that tiny figure who walked with a determination that defied her age.
“Excuse me, miss,” Isabela said to the receptionist, stepping onto a chair to reach the counter. “I’m here for my mom’s job interview.”
Carmen, the receptionist, who had worked in the building for 15 years, blinked several times before she could speak.
“What did you say, little one?”
“My mom, Sofía Morales, had an interview today at 10:00 a.m. for the human resources supervisor position, but she’s in the hospital and can’t come, so I came in her place.”
The naturalness with which Isabela spoke these words caused several employees to discreetly approach her. It was impossible not to be captivated by that girl who spoke with the seriousness of an adult, yet retained the innocent sweetness of her age.
At that precise moment, the executive elevator doors opened, and out stepped Diego Hernández, 42, CEO of Grupo Empresarial Azteca, one of Mexico’s most powerful corporations. With his height, perfectly styled hair, blue eyes that commanded respect in boardrooms, and a suit that cost more than the monthly salary of many Mexicans, Diego was the living definition of business success. But at that moment, seeing the scene unfolding in the reception area, something inside him stirred in a way he hadn’t experienced in years.
“What’s going on here?” he asked in his authoritative voice, though without its usual harshness.
Isabela turned to him, her large, expressive eyes seeming to hold secrets too profound for someone her age.
“Are you the boss? I need to talk to you about my mother.”
Diego felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. In his 15 years running companies, he had faced financial crises, ruthless competition, and multimillion-dollar negotiations, but he had never felt so disarmed as he did at that moment, standing before an 8-year-old girl who looked at him with a mixture of hope and determination.
“Carmen, take her to my office,” he ordered, surprising everyone present, including himself.
As they walked through the marble hallways toward the main office, Isabela observed everything with curiosity, but without being intimidated. Her small shoes clicked against the polished floor, creating an echo that seemed to announce that something important was about to happen.
“What’s your name?” Diego asked her as they entered his impressive office with its panoramic view of the city.
“Isabela Morales Vega. My mom says you should always give your full name when it’s important, and this is very important, Mr. Hernández.”
Diego Hernández sat down behind his mahogany desk, but something about the little girl’s presence made him get up again and sit in one of the armchairs in the informal meeting area.
“Come, sit here with me.”
Isabela settled into the armchair, placing the folder on the glass table with the care of someone handling something very valuable.
“My mom is very sick. The doctors say it’s from stress and working too much. She’s been looking for a job for a long time, but no one will hire her.”
“And why do you think your mom is the right person to work here?” Diego’s question was genuine. In his world, he was used to adults coming to ask him for favors, offering him dubious business deals, or trying to impress him with exaggerated achievements, but Isabela’s direct honesty was something completely new.
“Because she’s the smartest person I know,” Isabela replied without hesitation. “And because…”
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