Chapter 2 Face to face, for the first time

Lucía stopped in front of the executive bathroom mirror. The bright, white, and immaculate light from the ceiling mirror reflected back an image that didn't seem entirely her own. Her dark hair, tied back in a tight bun, not a single strand out of place, framed a stern, pale face. Under her eyes, dark circles were beginning to form like small shadows, almost imperceptible, but constant. She was wearing a white silk blouse with a high neck, paired with straight-cut pearl gray pants and mid-heeled shoes: everything carefully chosen to convey professionalism, authority, and distance.

She inhaled deeply. The stainless steel-covered walls reflected her figure like an endless repetition of herself. She was used to that reflection. To the image of the imperturbable executive, the woman who never wavered. But from her first exchange of words with Bruno Ortega, something seemed off.

"Don't lose focus," she repeated to herself silently. "You're not just another one. You didn't come here to fit in. You came to organize what no one wants to see."

Back in her office, the large windows offered a panoramic view of the overcast city. It was a gray and noisy midday outside, but inside the NCA, a clinical silence reigned. Lucía sat, clasped her hands on the glass desk, and reviewed the notes in the work environment report. It was all a facade: manipulated surveys, empty testimonies, discarded suggestions. The organizational culture was a shiny shell hiding a rotten core.

A sharp knock on the door brought her out of her thoughts. It opened precisely. Bruno Ortega crossed the threshold without waiting for permission, albeit with carefully measured elegance.

"Were you expecting me?" he asked without smiling, adjusting his navy blue jacket while his black leather shoes gleamed in the white light.

Lucía didn't get up. She observed him with the same coldness with which she assesses all employees: from his hairdo-neat, not a strand out of place-to the extremely expensive wristwatch he wore with an almost studied indifference.

"I had a feeling you'd show up," she replied, gesturing to a chair in front of the desk.

Bruno sat down slowly. He arranged his leather briefcase on his lap and interlaced his fingers. He seemed relaxed, but Lucía detected the tension in his shoulders.

"Then you know why I'm here," he said.

She nodded, sliding toward him a folder embossed with the NCA logo in silver. Inside, the detailed report of a critical intervention.

"Your department covered up irregularities in the procurement department. My task is to review every step and implement corrective measures." Lucía's voice was gentle, but her tone left no room for objection.

Bruno opened the folder leisurely. He flipped through the pages without really looking at them, as if he already knew the contents. "Your reports are sharp. They cut with elegance," he commented with a slight smile.

"I didn't come here to make friends."

"That's clear." The smile faded. His gaze turned dull, almost sad for a moment. "But you know this isn't just a game of rules. There are things that... just don't show up in audits."

"Like what?"

"Like the strings that bind certain people. Loyalties that aren't stated in contracts. Orders that aren't delivered in writing. You know what I mean, Lucía."

She looked at him, trying to understand whether his tone implied a warning or a confession. There was something in the way he said her name, without harshness, almost with respect.

"I don't have strings," he replied coldly.

Bruno inclined his head slightly, as if accepting a fair blow.

"And have you never felt that someone could see beyond the role you play in here? That there's something beyond your control that isn't necessarily a threat?"

Lucía tensed. Her breath shortened. Was she suggesting...?

"Anything that escapes control is a threat," she replied firmly.

Bruno nodded, but still held her gaze. There was something in her gaze that wasn't confrontational, but gentle insistence. A kind of silent plea.

Bruno:

"She's relentless. Cold as the steel that covers these walls. But there's something in her gaze when she feels alone. A tiny tremor that's barely noticeable. It reminds me of myself when I came here, hoping that work would protect me from the world. What if there's still something human left amidst so much structure? What if I'm not completely alone?"

"Lucia," he said softly. "Maybe what's happening here isn't just work. Sometimes you survive by clinging to something else. Even if it's forbidden."

Lucía:

"What are you implying? You can't be talking about... us? There isn't a us." "There can't be. This closeness makes me uncomfortable, but at the same time... it's the first time in years someone has spoken to me as if they saw me. Not as a tool, not as a threat, but as a person. What does he want from me? Why are you making me feel vulnerable with just one sentence?"

She broke the silence with a softer tone.

"You shouldn't insinuate that. You know the policies. Relationships are forbidden within the corporation."

Bruno stood up slowly. The folder was forgotten on the table.

"I didn't insinuate anything. I just said that some cling to the only thing they have left," and he looked at her with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

Lucía didn't respond. Her body remained perfectly still, but something inside her trembled. She wasn't afraid. It was something else. A tiny crack. Barely visible.

He walked toward the door, but before leaving, he paused.

"Sometimes, even executioners need redemption."

And he left.

Lucía looked down at the folder. Then she raised her eyes to the window. The city was still there, impassive. But inside, the building was beginning to creak.