Chapter 5 CHAPTER 5 – SURVIVAL GUIDE, LEVEL 2: SHOWING UP TO THE EXECUTION.
RIIIIING.
The alarm went off like someone had cranked the volume on purpose.
“No,” I groaned, burying my face in the pillow. “It can’t be tomorrow yet. There should be a law against this.”
RIIIIING.
I slapped it off blindly. Thud.
Silence.
Then, a memory.
“Tomorrow, at eight sharp, I want to see you in my office.”
WHAM.
My heart jumped so hard I almost turned the alarm back on out of pure fright.
My eyes flew open.
“No way…” I whispered. “It was real.”
I stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, waiting for some supernatural force to appear and say, “just kidding, you’re fifteen again, you’re back in high school.” Nothing. Just the damp stain in the corner winking at me passively.
The door flew open. Clack.
“Still alive?” Mara poked her head in, mug in hand, hair a complete bird’s nest. “Please tell me you’re still alive.”
“That’s debatable,” I muttered, pushing myself up. “What time is it?”
“Quarter to seven,” she said. “And before you scream: yes, I left you coffee, yes, I pulled out the clothes that kind of look serious, and yes, the video is still everywhere.”
My brain lit up like someone had turned a spotlight on over my bed.
“More?”
“More,” she confirmed, handing me the mug. “Twitter, Instagram, TikTok, Facebook, my aunt’s mom group… My mom sent me the video on WhatsApp asking, ‘isn’t that the crazy friend who came over at Christmas?’”
I took a sip of coffee. Gulp. Burned my tongue. Deserved it.
“I’m going to die, right?” I asked, hugging the mug. “Mr. Industrial Freezer is going to fire me in really creative ways.”
Mara dropped onto the edge of the bed.
“I quote,” she said in a deep voice, imitating Adrian, “‘I’m not going to fire her. Today.’ That’s… kind of weird, isn’t it?”
“How do you even know he said that?” I frowned.
“Because last night you sent me ten voice notes crying on the bus home, remember?” She raised an eyebrow. “Then you fell asleep halfway through a sentence about contracts, ice cream and late-stage capitalism.”
Oh.
Yeah. That sounded like me.
“I have to be in his office at eight,” I said, glancing at the clock. “Which is… in less than an hour. And I still don’t know if I should go with a resignation letter, a résumé or a priest.”
“You’re not taking any of that,” she shot back. “You’re going with your face, your dangerous mouth and the hope that, by some miracle, that’s useful to him. In fact…” She leaned a bit closer. “If he ruins your life, you hereby give me permission to leak everything to Netflix.”
“Mara.”
“What? Think of the royalties.”
I gave her my best “I can’t believe you’re my emotional support” face as I scrambled out of bed.
Getting ready was basically a movie montage, but low-budget edition.
Quick shower. Shhhhh.
Hairdryer fighting my rebellious hair. Fwooooosh.
Makeup in “make it look like I sleep eight hours and not three” mode.
The least wrinkled black pants, a light blouse, the blazer I’d already worn a thousand times but that looked decent from the right angle.
“You look like…” Mara gave me a full up-and-down. “A mix between responsible intern and drama heroine on her way to ruin her life.”
“Perfect,” I said, checking myself in the mirror. “That’s exactly what I am.”
My phone buzzed on the table. Bzzz, bzzz.
Group “Las Caóticas”:
Cami: GIRL
Cami: I SAW THE VIDEO
Cami: I’VE WATCHED IT 7 TIMES
Cami: I LOVE YOU
Sol: if they fire you we organize a protest
Sol: ‘WE ARE ALL INDUSTRIAL FREEZERS’
Cami: you’re not helping
I smiled… a little. Then the smile twisted into a grimace.
“Wish me luck,” I told Mara, grabbing my bag.
“I wish you something better than luck,” she said, making the sign of the cross over me. “I wish you a raise.”
The Vega Group building at seven fifty a.m. had a different kind of energy: more coffee, less glamour, lots of dark circles and the sound of rushed heels. Tap, tap, tap.
I swiped my card at the access gate. Beep.
The moment I stepped into the lobby I felt the stares before I saw them.
It wasn’t paranoia.
The two receptionists were whispering to each other. A security guard greeted me with a little too much curiosity. An employee I’d never seen before gave me a half-amused, half-conspiratorial smile.
Great. I wasn’t just “the intern” anymore. I was “the girl from the video.”
The elevator arrived. Ding.
I squeezed in with five other people.
“What floor?” a guy asked, pressing buttons.
I looked at the panel. I was used to hitting “5.” My world existed between the fifth floor and the ground floor coffee.
“Fifteen, please,” I said.
Two heads turned toward me.
“Fifteenth floor?” a woman in a flawless suit repeated. “That’s where… you know.”
Yeah. I knew. Mount Olympus. The floor for people who earned enough not to check price tags at the supermarket.
No one said “the boss,” but it floated in the air.
The elevator started moving. Whoooosh.
Every floor we passed was a reminder that I was getting closer to the lion’s den.
4… 5… 6…
A couple got off.
7… 8… 9…
On ten, Clara got in.
Thud.
There went my heart again.
“Moreno,” she said, settling in next to me, looking like she’d slept even less than I had. “I see you’re going to fifteen.”
“Yes,” I replied, clutching my bag. “Mr. Vega asked to see me.”
“I know.” Her voice was tight. “He also asked me for a report on your performance.”
Clink.
Another coin dropping into the slot machine of my future.
“Clara, I…” I started.
She raised a hand.
“Don’t explain it to me. Explain it to him,” she whispered. “And please, don’t make jokes.”
The doors slid open on twelve. A man in a dark suit, pin on his lapel and “I know all the secrets in this building” face stepped in. He didn’t say a word, but when his eyes flicked to my badge, I felt him file my existence away in some corner of his brain.
13… 14…
Time stretched.
Ding.
The doors opened and Clara smoothed down her jacket.
“Good luck,” she said, without meeting my eyes. “You’re going to need it.”
I stepped out into the fifteenth-floor hallway and instantly knew this was not my natural habitat.
Everything was… quiet. Clean. Spacious. Glass walls revealed immaculate offices, desks without piles of paper, chairs that actually looked comfortable. Even the air smelled different. Less printer, more expensive cologne.
The floor’s reception was manned by a woman with perfect hair and a blazer that probably cost two of my kidneys.
“Good morning,” she said with a professional smile. “How can I help you?”
“Good morning,” I tried to copy her tone and ended up sounding like I had a cough. “Uh… Mr. Vega asked me to come. At eight. I’m Lia Moreno.”
Her eyes dropped to my badge, then to her screen. She typed something. Tap tap tap.
“Ms. Moreno, yes,” she nodded. “Mr. Vega is expecting you.”
She stood, walked around the desk and gestured toward a hallway.
“Down to the end, last door on the left.”
Last door on the left.
Perfect. That sounded zero sinister.
I walked down the hallway like someone approaching a dragon: slowly, taking everything in, wondering at what point in my life “saying sarcastic things into microphones” had become a conscious decision.
I entertained a few scenarios:
He fires me. I cry. He ignores me. The end.
He makes me sign a document promising never to mention his heart again. The end.
He sues me. I go viral again. The end, plus jail.
He offers me a better job because he magically sees potential in me. HA. Okay, that one was clearly science fiction.
I reached the door. Took a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale.
Knock, knock.
“Come in,” came a voice from inside.
I opened the door.
