Chapter 2
“Don Arturo,” Mateo ordered in a voice that made the chandelier crystals tremble. “Take Leo to the car. We’re going to Hospital Ángeles immediately.”
“That kid isn’t going anywhere and neither are you!” shouted Diego, signaling to the two private security guards who were guarding the door.
But Don Arturo, a sixty-year-old man who had served Mateo's father and knew true loyalty, stood firmly between them, pushing the lawyers aside. Mateo raised his cane, pointing in the direction where he heard his brother's breathing.
“I still own 65 percent of this corporation, Diego. Unless a judge rules otherwise in court, I’m still in charge here. If one of your thugs lays a finger on me or this kid, I’ll make sure you spend the next 20 years in federal prison.”
Mateo's ruthless tone, the same tone he used to close multimillion-dollar deals, paralyzed those present. Without another word, Don Arturo led Mateo and the boy toward the armored vehicle. They left Valeria behind, shouting curses, and Diego swearing that the next day he would take the order to a judge to take everything from her.
That night at the hospital, while the doctors stabilized Leo with antibiotics and IV fluids, Mateo sat by the boy's bedside. The fever had subsided a little. In the dim light of the private room, the 8-year-old opened his eyes heavily.
“Mr. Mateo…” Leo whispered hoarsely. “Why did you bring me here? That mean man said I was trash.”
Mateo's eyes filled with tears behind his dark glasses. He reached for the child's little hand on the white sheets and held it tightly.
“You are not trash, Leo. You are the bravest and purest person I have ever known. You gave me half of your food when you had nothing, and you gave me your time when I didn't want to live. Now it's my turn to take care of you.”
Leo offered a weak smile and, with his free hand, felt around on the nightstand until he found his small, worn Bible. He handed it to Mateo. “My mom used to say that when I was really scared, God would always give me a big hug. You're scared, Mr. Mateo. I can feel it in my hand. Ask God to give you a hug.”
That morning, while the boy slept peacefully, Mateo did something he hadn't done in three long years. He knelt on the cold hospital floor, rested his forehead against the edge of the bed, and wept. He didn't weep out of pity for his blindness, nor for the betrayal of the woman he loved, nor for the wickedness of his brother. He wept out of repentance.
“God,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’ve been angry with you all this time. I thought you had taken away my light, but the truth is, I locked myself in darkness. Money blinded me long before this illness. I beg you to give me the strength to protect this innocent child and to bring justice. And if it is your will… give me back my sight. Not for my pride, but so I can see the face of this child who saved my soul.”
Mateo fell asleep right there, kneeling down.
The next morning, a ray of sunlight filtered through the hospital blinds, striking Mateo's face directly. Slowly, he opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was a blurry glow. He blinked once, twice, three times. His heart began to pound wildly. The white fog that had clouded his eyes for three years began to dissipate. He saw the white sheets. He saw the vital signs monitor. And then, he turned his head and saw Leo's sleeping face. He saw his long eyelashes, his tousled hair, his small chest rising and falling gently.
He could see! An inexplicable miracle, defying all previous medical diagnoses, had occurred. Mateo brought his hands to his face, trembling, stifling a sob of utter gratitude. God had not only embraced him; God had given him back his life.
But the businessman's brilliant mind, honed in organizational development strategy, sprang to work immediately. If Valeria and Diego knew he had regained his sight, they would change their strategy to destroy him. He had to play his last card intelligently. He had to keep his miracle a complete and utter secret.
At 11 a.m., Don Arturo's phone rang. It was the board's lead attorney. Diego had called an emergency meeting on the 40th floor of the corporate tower. The judge had signed the preliminary order to freeze Mateo's assets and evaluate his mental state. They were going to strip him of everything that very afternoon.
Mateo put on his tailored black suit. He put on his dark glasses. He picked up his white cane. He kissed Leo, who was still resting, on the forehead and promised he would return soon.
