I COUNTED 30 SLAPS AS MY SON BEAT ME IN FRONT OF HIS WIFE… SO I SOLD HIS MANSION BEFORE LUNCH AND LET THE DOORBELL TELL HIM WHAT I NEVER WOULD

You sign your name while your phone vibrates across the polished conference table.

The screen lights up with Javier’s name, and for one brief second you picture him exactly as he must look in that moment: seated behind a glass desk, expensive watch gleaming, jaw tight with outrage, still convinced that outrage is the same thing as power. Outside the …