Do you promise me?
Matthew nodded.
I promise. When I can stand in front of you and it’s no longer the hungry child in the fence… I’ll come back.
Isabella took off a small silver bracelet and put it in her hand.
“Then stay with this. So you don’t forget me.
Matthew pressed the bracelet tightly.
The two children last hugged themselves on a small street in Guadalajara.
And then Matthew left.
Twenty-five years passed
Twenty-five years passed.
Guadalajara changed avenues, buildings and rhythm. Where there were empty grounds before, glass towers appeared. Where there were old houses, designer restaurants were born. The surnames continued to weigh, but less. The money kept sending, although now it did so with social networks and image campaigns.
Isabella Montes also changed.
She was no longer the perfect braid girl who hid half a cake in the lunchbox. She was thirty-four years old, a bachelor’s degree in administration and the surname Montes still opening doors that she sometimes wanted to close. After his mother’s death, he had tried to take a different path than his father. I wanted to turn part of the hotel group into a real foundation, not an elegant facade to deduct taxes.
But with his father, nothing was simple.
Don Ricardo Montes was still a tough man, obsessed with prestige and the idea that compassion should look good in photographs, not complicating balances. Every proposal of Isabella ended the same.
Business is not hostels.
“I’m not talking about giving away, I’m talking about investing in people.
Thankful people don’t exist.
After years of discussion, Isabella got tired. He stayed inside the company, yes, but in a small corner. He directed internal programs, limited scholarships, employee support. Enough to sleep a little better. Not enough to feel free.
She never married.
There were boyfriends, almost signed engagements, impeccable dinners with right men. But I always ended up feeling like I was talking to full people while a part of it was still stopped on a small street in Guadalajara, watching a child with a blue ribbon on his wrist promise something impossible.
Over the years, he stopped counting it.
People smile with tenderness or mockery when they mentioned it. “What a nice memory.” “The kids promise anything.” “Surely and remembers you.”
She was smiling too.
But it was silent when, some nights, it opened an old box where it kept a silver bracelet half. The other half had taken her Matthew.
The twenty-fifth anniversary of Grupo Montes came amid problems. The chain was dragging hidden debts, aging hotels and a failed project in Puerto Vallarta that had drained millions. Don Ricardo organized a huge gala to appear strength.
He invited press, politicians, businessmen and potential investors.
I needed to close an alliance that saved the group.
Isabella knew it because she had heard lawyers speak softly: if fresh capital did not appear that night, in less than six months they would have to sell historical assets.
The gala was at the Imperial Hotel, the old gem of the family. Restored candlesticks, white flowers, violinists by the main staircase. Everything perfect on the outside.
Inside, fear.
Isabella wore a dark blue dress and exhausted patience. He was sluring as he watched his father pretend security with a drink in his hand.
“Today someone is important,” he said without looking at her. Behave professional.
“I always do.
“Don’t contradict me in front of him.
I don’t even know who it is.
Don Ricardo arranged the bag.
—The founder of Grupo Cruz Altamira.
Isabella frowned. The name sounded to him from all over: real estate developments, hotel technology, clean energy, international investments. A company that in less than ten years had exploded like few in Mexico.
“The young millionaire from Monterrey?” asked a partner approaching. They say it’s worth more than nine hundred and fifty million.
“And growing up,” his father replied with a smile rehearsed.
Isabella barely heard the figure.
Cruz.
He felt something strange, almost ridiculous, climbing his chest.
No. Impossible.
