Arthur stands.
He is not a man who stands casually, which means the entire ballroom feels it when he does. He straightens his jacket, buttons it once, and steps toward the stage like he is entering a negotiation that has already changed shape.
“Mariana,” he says into the ambient hush, “is this announcement public?”
Not yet,” you answer. “It becomes public at midnight Eastern. My attorneys are finalizing the release.”
Arthur nods once.
He is doing calculations now. Everyone is. Because Grupo Altaria, the company you have bled for, is in the middle of a debt restructuring for a major expansion. And one of the private entities rumored to be evaluating that debt has, for the last two months, been a fund tied to Cárdenas Global.
You see the realization hit the CFO first.
Then the CEO.
Then half the board.
You smile again.
That is when Mauricio finally moves.
“Mariana,” he says, loud enough for the room, forcing a laugh he does not feel. “Honey, let’s not do this here.”
Honey.
The audacity nearly deserves applause.
You turn to face him fully. “Here is exactly where we’re doing it.”
A few people actually inhale.
Mauricio takes a step forward, palms out, performing calm for the room. He has always been good at theater when the audience is undecided. “You’re upset,” he says. “Whatever happened, we can handle it privately.”
You look at him for three long seconds.
Then you ask, “Privately? Like the shampoo bottle you replaced with depilatory cream this morning?”
If the ballroom had been silent before, now it becomes airless.
Sofía goes rigid.
Leonor’s champagne flute trembles once in her hand. Mauricio’s face empties in a way you have never seen before, all ego suddenly gone from it, all polish stripped off. He understands, too late, that you are not guessing.
“You sound crazy,” he says.
“No,” you answer. “Prepared.”
You turn back to the crowd.
