You clutch the phone behind your back.
“I’m sorry.”
“No,” he says. “You’re not.”
Your throat tightens.
He steps forward.
“I warned you not to become attached.”
“You knew,” you whisper.
His face flickers.
“Knew what?”
“That they were lying about Alejandro.”
Mr. Sterling looks toward the hallway.
When he speaks again, his voice is lower.
“I knew this family prefers convenient truths.”
“Then help us.”
He lets out a tired breath.
“You are a child.”
“I’m seventeen.”
“Yes,” he says sadly. “A child.”
You think of your schoolbooks left behind in East L.A. You think of Alejandro gripping your shoulders while learning to stand. You think of Damian calling you too poor to matter.
“No,” you say. “I stopped being a child when my family sold my future.”
Something in his face softens.
For the first time, Mr. Sterling looks old.
Not polished.
Old.
“I worked for Alejandro’s grandfather,” he says quietly. “Mr. Ernesto DeVega was not a kind man, but he was fair. He loved Alejandro because Alejandro questioned him.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because people who depend on powerful families learn the cost of truth.”
You lift your chin.
“And people who stay silent help powerful families bury it.”
He closes his eyes briefly.
The words hit him.
Good.
You expect him to fire you.
Instead, he opens the bottom drawer of Don Richard’s desk and removes a small envelope.
“Take this,” he says.
Inside is a flash drive.
“What is it?”
“Security footage from the night of the accident.”
Your breath catches.
“I thought there was no footage.”
“There wasn’t supposed to be.”
You stare at him.
“Why do you have it?”
“Because Alejandro’s grandfather taught me one thing,” Mr. Sterling says. “Never trust a DeVega without a copy.”
That night, you bring the flash drive to Alejandro.
For the first time, he is afraid to know.
He holds it in his palm, staring at it like it is a loaded gun.
“What if I’m wrong?” he whispers.
“Then you’ll know.”
“And if I’m right?”
