The secretary called for a fifteen-minute recess.

No one actually went out to rest; they went out to make phone calls, check bylaws, and verify signatures. The business lawyer returned pale-faced. He confirmed that Ortega Gestión SL existed, was active, and was listed as the beneficiary of an agreement filed years ago, never executed because the conditions hadn’t been met… until now.

“What conditions?” one of the partners asked.

The notary responded by looking at me for only a second before returning to the document.

—Serious acts against the stability of the company, abuse of management and decisions made out of personal animosity that generate reputational, economic or legal risk.

Then he placed another envelope on the table.

Inside were my internal reports on billing discrepancies, payments to suppliers linked to Carmen’s cousin, and emails in which I had warned of these irregularities. There was also the termination letter signed the day before, issued less than an hour after my last accounting warning.

Nobody had to explain anything anymore.

Tuesday’s public humiliation, which Carmen had seen as a show of authority, now appeared as final proof that she had used the company as a personal weapon. The woman who had thrown me out in front of everyone had just discovered, before shareholders, lawyers, and her own son, that her arrogance had triggered the clause that could strip her of control.

And that was just the beginning.

The meeting resumed at ten past twelve, but it was no longer an ordinary meeting. It was a demolition.

Carmen tried to compose herself. She dried her hands with a paper towel, asked for another glass of water, and reapplied her lipstick with a steady hand that fooled no one. She wanted to regain her image as an unyielding woman, but the mask had cracked. The minority shareholders, who for years had nodded out of fear or self-interest, began to ask specific questions: transfers to related companies, hiring staff without internal processes, withdrawal of dividends in sensitive fiscal years. The auditor, until then cautious, admitted that some transactions required a thorough review.

Álvaro remained seated, motionless. He did not intervene. It was evident that he was struggling to uphold two impossible truths: that his mother had controlled him all his life and that he had allowed her to control mine as well.

The commercial lawyer was the first to speak with legal clarity.

—If the documentation is valid, and there is no legal challenge, the effective ownership of the majority shareholding would provisionally belong to Ortega Gestión SL. This implies a change of control and a precautionary suspension of certain powers of Ms. Carmen Valdés.

“Not provisionally!” Carmen burst out. “That won’t happen while I’m still alive!”

Tomás Echevarría closed the folder with an almost cruel calmness.

“It doesn’t depend on your breathing, Doña Carmen. It depends on the documents, the registry, and the law.”

No one smiled, but the silence in the room now had a different meaning. For the first time, Carmen was alone.

An immediate measure was then voted on: to temporarily remove her from the executive management until the internal audit and review of the shareholding structure were completed. The two minority shareholders voted in favor. The auditor supported the need for intervention. The lawyer recommended caution but did not object. When it was Álvaro’s turn, he took an eternity of five seconds to speak.

—In favor.

Carmen looked at him as if she had been stabbed.

—You are my son.

Álvaro lowered his gaze.

—And she is my wife.

It was too late for that phrase, but it still sounded like a gunshot.

The vote passed. Immediately afterward, the notary formally asked me to accept the position of sole administrator of Ortega Gestión SL and representative of the shareholding until the corresponding registrations and verifications were completed. I signed with a serenity that surprised even me. I didn’t feel euphoria. I felt something purer: the end of a long, suffocating ordeal.