I walked down the third-floor hallway carrying a warm canvas lunch bag with the roasted chicken and vegetables I had made before dawn.

Near the water cooler, Alejandro’s younger sister, Paola, stood leaning against the wall in a tailored blue dress, tapping her acrylic nails against a paper cup.

“Look at you,” Paola said, her voice carrying easily down the tiled corridor toward two junior accountants.

“Is that dress from the secondhand shop by the bus terminal, or did you find it in a church donation bin?”

The two accountants looked down at their folders and shuffled past without a word.

“Your brother didn’t eat breakfast,” I said, holding the canvas bag with both hands.

Paola let out a sharp, dramatic scoff and tossed her empty cup in the bin.

“He’s in a meeting with two bank directors, Elena,” she said.

“He doesn’t need a sack lunch brought in like he’s in primary school.”

I stepped past her into Alejandro’s private office.

He was standing behind his broad mahogany desk, signing three copies of a blue corporate loan document.

I set the lunch bag on the edge of the polished wood next to a framed photograph of his late father.

Alejandro didn’t lift his pen from the signature line.

“Take it off my desk,” he said, his voice flat and low.