Clara
I was not on the list. That was the first thing I thought when Alexander told me about the event.
A charity cocktail in one of the oldest hotels in the city, one of those where luxury is not shouted, it is understood. Consolidated companies, surnames that have been circulating in the same salons for decades, people who do not need to introduce themselves because everyone knows who they are.
"It's not a formal invitation," Alexander said over the phone, in that matter-of-fact tone he uses when something is already decided. "But I want you to come with me."
I was in the makeshift office of the new headquarters, sitting in front of blueprints, material samples, and supplier lists. My hair was haphazardly pulled back, and I was wearing a white shirt stained with construction dust. My
