At first, nobody in the hallway understood why Patricia Gómez went quiet.
One second, she was shrieking about her handbag, holding it away from her body like it had been poisoned. The next, she was staring at Doña Elena with the kind of outrage rich people save for accidents that happen too close to their vanity. Around you, the office seemed to freeze in place. Chairs stopped rolling. Keyboards stopped clicking. Even the elevator ding sounded nervous.
Then Patricia found her voice, and it came back sharper than broken glass.
“Look what you did!”
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