Doña Beatriz, who was standing at the center of a circle of politicians and socialites, turned around. When her eyes landed on us—on her son, looking wealthier and more powerful than ever, holding the hand of the girl who used to bleach her toilets—her champagne glass slipped from her fingers, shattering loudly against the marble floor.
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She stormed toward us, her face twisted in a mask of venomous fury. “How dare you show your faces here? Security! Escort these grifters out!”……
