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CHAPTER 36

NANCY.

On my bed, there was only me, just me, on Friday night.

It was not early. My nightstand clock read 12:30 hours.

I didn't want to go to work. I didn't want to, even if I could. I wouldn't go, even if I wanted to. Things weren't right in my head.

I never thought that one of my clients could harm me. Rather, that having a client could hurt me. The life they have (the diners of the restaurants that belong to my family) is supposed to be theirs, not mine. And vice-versa, the issue becomes stronger, because evading a problem that affects us directly is one thing.

Another, more compromising, is when we are the ones who create a conflict that can splash like a soccer ball kicked at full speed in such a way that when it bounces against someone specific and when it comes back, it hits harder.

I never thought that the presence of the accountant Carl Malaver could mean an inconvenience for me. I had to warn him to stay away from my restaurant, but I could not tell him exactly what was goin
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