Chaos had engulfed Navarro Corp’s headquarters like a thunderstorm trapped indoors. On the giant screens on the 32nd floor, a red alert flashed incessantly: Critical Security Failure. Emergency Reboot in Progress. The hallways smelled of reheated coffee and fear; keyboards pounded in desperation, voices overlapped, and footsteps ran aimlessly. Thirty engineers paced back and forth as if movement could somehow repair what the system no longer obeyed.

In the midst of that storm, Andrés Navarro was not running.

He stood motionless, arms crossed, glancing at his watch with the precision of someone who measures the world in seconds. Tall, impeccably dressed, with a gaze as cold as glass, he looked more like a judge than a CEO, even though he was one: the head of the country’s most important technology company, the man everyone feared to disappoint.

“Thirty seconds,” he said, without raising his voice.

Nobody breathed.

An engineer, with his shirt stuck to his back, swallowed hard.

—We’re trying, sir… but the system isn’t accepting any more commands.

Andrés didn’t respond immediately. His eyes were fixed on the red alert, as if he could intimidate it into disappearing. Then he uttered a phrase that landed like a hammer blow:

—If nobody fixes this, everyone’s fired.

At that moment, the emergency doors flew open, as if the building itself had sneezed. All eyes turned at once. A woman’s voice, agitated yet firm, pierced the room like an arrow:

—Deliver unsweetened lemon tea and wholemeal bread with tofu!

A young woman walked briskly in, her t-shirt soaked with sweat, her lips slightly purple from the recent rain, breathing like someone who had miraculously fought against traffic. She carried a delivery backpack, the kind no one gives a second glance… until it turns up where it shouldn’t.

“Miss, this is a restricted area,” someone shouted at her, sounding both indignant and scared.

The young woman looked around, not understanding why they were staring at her as if a UFO had landed.

—Isn’t this the 32nd floor? Order number 49. It’s in the system.

An engineer approached with his hand outstretched, as if he could push her out without touching her.

—Get out of here right now.

“Relax, I just came to deliver,” she said, holding up the bag. “My client is Andrés Navarro.”

It was like saying a spell.

The room froze. Footsteps stopped. Even the screens seemed to flicker more slowly.

Andrés turned around. He observed her as one observes something impossible: a delivery woman lost in the heart of corporate security, with rain still in her hair and a phone in her hand as if it were an official pass.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked.

—Of course. Your name appears here in the app —she replied, showing him the screen casually—. The order was placed at 11:42.

Andrés looked at his platinum watch.

—You’re a minute late.

The young woman let out a humorless laugh.

—There was traffic.

—It doesn’t matter.

He snatched the bag from her as if it were just another document. And she, at last, noticed what everyone had been staring at. Behind Andrés, the code on the big screen flowed like a poisoned river.

He frowned.

—They are trying to restart it with the cache active.

An engineer grunted, offended.

—And now the delivery woman is going to teach us, or what?

She took a step closer, without asking permission, drawn by logic as if it were a magnet.

“It’s not…” he pointed to a line. “If that part keeps running, it’s going into defense mode and freezing everything.”

Andrés took a step towards her, for the first time with something resembling real interest.

—Do you understand this?

Natalia hesitated for a second, as if the past were squeezing her throat.

—A little. I studied computer science… I dropped out of university in my fourth semester.

The engineers remained silent, ashamed that they hadn’t seen what she saw so quickly. Andrés looked around; no one met his gaze. He looked back at her.

—Can you try?

Natalia held the phone, the backpack, the bag she’d already handed over. She looked at the chaos, looked at the screen, and felt that old spark she’d buried for survival. She nodded.

-Can.

He approached the panel carefully, as if touching the edge of a wound. He opened a hidden line, typed commands with a confidence that came not from degrees but from hours stolen from sleep, from tutorials watched on an empty stomach, from talent held back by life. He disconnected a cable. He rebooted from a secondary power source.

Three seconds later, the screen changed: Access restored. System stable.

The alarms stopped. The lights returned to normal. The silence was so heavy it seemed as if someone had removed all sound from the world.

Natalia blinked, confused by the stares.

Did it work?

Andrés looked at the screen and then at her.

-What’s your name?

—Natalia. Natalia Rivas.

-Wait.

She had already turned around, ready to flee before reality caught up with her.

—Don’t you want a job?

Natalia let out a short laugh, as if she had been offered the chance to live on Mars.

—No, thank you. I have more deliveries.

And he ran away.

Riding her old motorcycle, crossing still-wet streets, Natalia allowed herself to smile for the first time in days. She had done the right thing. She had survived another day. What she didn’t know was that more than thirty cameras had recorded her, or that her face was already starting to jump from screen to screen like wildfire.

Half an hour later, in a darkened room at Navarro Corp, Andrés replayed the recording over and over. He wasn’t looking at the code. He was looking at Natalia’s face. Not the smile, not the motorcycle, not the uniform. He was looking at that fierce concentration, that determined expression, that intelligence that demanded no permission.

—Natalia Rivas… —he whispered, as if the name opened a door.

Meanwhile, on the other side of Monterrey, Natalia entered her house with a plastic bag: rice, eggs, and some generic medicine. The house was modest, with peeling paint on the walls and a fan that made more noise than air. Her mother, Teresa, a thin woman in a wheelchair, looked at her with weariness and love.

—How did it go, daughter?

—As always. Running and running —Natalia bent down to kiss his forehead—. I’m going to make soup.

Teresa smiled. That was the gesture Natalia protected tooth and nail.

Unbeknownst to her, two men were watching from a car parked in front of the house.

“Is that her?” asked one of them, wearing a cap.

—Yes. Andrés asked us to find her. It’s her.

The next morning, Natalia’s life was split in two in front of a newsstand. The cover of the country’s most important business magazine featured her face, her sweat, her backpack, her miracle:

“Delivery driver solves in seconds what 30 engineers couldn’t.”

Natalia felt her heart race. It wasn’t pride. It was fear.

—No, no, no… this is going to cause me problems.

But it was already too late.

As she turned the corner, a black limousine pulled up in front of her, gleaming like a valuable animal. The window rolled down slowly. Inside, Andrés Navarro watched her as if he had known this moment would come.

—Natalia—he said, and his voice, for the first time, sounded not like a threat but like a decision—. I’ve been looking for you.

She took a step back, almost tripping over a crack in the sidewalk.

—What… what do you want?

—I need your help again.

“It was luck,” she defended herself, tightening the straps of her backpack. “I was just working.”

Andrés gave a half-smile.

—Nobody solves a dynamic encryption problem in seconds by luck.

Natalia swallowed. She didn’t know what scared her more: that he would find out, or that she would find out herself.

“I have to work,” she murmured, as if saying it would save her.

—How much do you earn per day?

—That’s very personal.

—I’ll pay you double for a special delivery.

He handed her a black card with gold lettering. Natalia took it as if it were a bomb.

—At seven o’clock sharp—he added. Don’t be late.

The window closed. The limousine drove away. Natalia was left holding the card, with the feeling that fate had just knocked on her door… and wouldn’t accept a “not now.”

That same day, the past also knocked on his door, but with a closed fist.

At the neighborhood market, while buying medicine for her mother, she heard a familiar voice, sharp as glass:

—The daughter of a murderer shouldn’t be around here.

Natalia froze. She clutched the box of painkillers as if she could crush the shame.

Silvia Luján, a former university classmate, looked at her with disdain. Perfect hair, a venomous smile, the confidence of someone who never had to choose between eating and studying.

“I thought you’d disappeared after your dad was arrested,” she said loudly, so everyone could hear. “What’s it like being the daughter of someone who almost killed fifteen people?”

Natalia took a deep breath. She mentally counted to three. Her mother’s voice in her memory urged her to stay calm, as always.

“My father was innocent,” he said without turning around.

Silvia laughed cruelly.

—Of course… that’s why he died in jail.

Natalia’s body trembled, but a message vibrated on her phone: “Don’t forget the medicine, daughter. I love you.” That “I love you” was an anchor.

She paid and left in silence, swallowing her humiliation. Because crying in public would have been a victory for them. And she had already lost too much.

Three years earlier, Ernesto Rivas, a talented chef, had been accused of poisoning desserts at a luxury restaurant. Two weeks after his arrest, he was found dead in his cell. With him, Natalia’s life had crumbled: she dropped out of university, lost her scholarship, cared for her mother who was left ill from the trauma, and protected her younger brother, Mateo, who at twelve years old still believed that good always wins… if you persist long enough.

That night, the final blow came by phone.

“Natalia, you’re out,” Marcos, the delivery platform manager, told her. “I don’t want you on the service anymore.”

—What? Why?

“You’re working for a high-security company, you’re on the news… it’s terrible for your image. That’s it. Bring your uniform tomorrow.”

The call cut off. Natalia slumped to the kitchen floor, her back against the cold wall. Another job lost. Another “you’re not welcome.” She glanced at the black card on the table and understood something that pained her to admit: perhaps Andrés Navarro wasn’t just an opportunity… perhaps he was the only way out.

At 7:02, Natalia arrived by bicycle in front of one of Monterrey’s most exclusive restaurants. She was wearing her best clothes: clean jeans and a borrowed blouse. The valet looked at her as if she had mud on her shoes.

—The service entrance is at the back.

—I’m looking for Andrés Navarro —she said, lifting her chin—. He invited me.

The valet burst out laughing.

—Uh-huh. And I’m the president of the country.

Then a silver Aston Martin pulled up. Andrés got out, impeccable in a tailored suit, with that aura of control that made the air around him seem ordered. The valet hurried over to him, ignoring Natalia.

—Your table is ready, Mr. Navarro.

Andrés looked at Natalia.

—You’re late.

—Two minutes. I came by bike.

He looked at the rusty bicycle, then at his simple clothes. He said nothing. He just turned away.

-Come on.

Inside, the restaurant was another world: lamps like stars, tables with politicians, celebrities, and businesspeople; expensive perfumes, carefully measured laughter. Natalia walked around feeling like a mistake amidst the perfection.

Andrés led her to a table overlooking the illuminated city. When they were alone, Natalia finally let out what had been burning inside her.

—What am I doing here?

“I want to offer you a job,” he replied. “Technological security.”

Natalia let out a bitter laugh.

—I didn’t finish my degree.

—I’m not interested in titles. I care about results.

The waiter brought champagne; Andrés dismissed it with a gesture. Natalia watched him: no one ever said no to him, and yet he listened to her. That disarmed her more than his arrogance.

“You’ve already found out about my past, right?” she asked directly. “About my dad.”

A flash passed through Andrés’ eyes.

—I know what they’re saying.

“That’s what they say…” Natalia repeated, feeling a lump in her throat. “But he was innocent.”

Dinner unfolded with an odd tension: curiosity, wounded pride, a silent attraction she refused to name. And as they left, fate presented them with a familiar face.

An elegant woman approached: designer black dress, dangerous smile.

—Andrés, what a surprise to see you here.

The woman’s eyes scanned Natalia from head to toe.

—And who is this?

—Mónica Luján—Andrés introduced coldly—. I wasn’t expecting to see you.

Natalia’s blood ran cold at that last name.

“I know your daughter, Silvia,” Natalia said, unable to stop herself.

Monica’s eyes shone with recognition.

—Wait… are you Ernesto Rivas’s daughter? The chef who tried to poison my husband.

Natalia felt the ground disappear.

—My father was innocent.

Monica let out a soft, cruel laugh.

—Your father was a failure. He tried to kill Ramiro out of envy.

Ramiro Luján. The name that had ruined his home, his university, his future. Andrés gently took Natalia’s arm as she took a step forward, seething with anger.

“We’re done here, Monica,” he said authoritatively. “Good night.”

Monica walked away, leaving her poison in the air.

—Be careful who you hire, Andrés. Bad blood always ends up coming out.

Natalia was trembling when she let go.

—Now do you understand why I can’t accept your job? Nobody believes me. All of Monterrey thinks I’m the daughter of a murderer.

Andrés stared at her without blinking.

—Then don’t try to convince them. Try it.

-As?

—Come tomorrow.

That night, when Natalia returned home, she found an eviction notice on the table. Three months of unpaid rent. Mateo was asleep, clutching one of his father’s cookbooks. Natalia looked at Ernesto’s photo on the wall, that serene smile of someone who loved feeding others.

“What would you say now, Dad?” he whispered.

Her phone vibrated with a message from Andrés: “The limousine will be there at 8:30. Don’t be late.”

And there, right there, on the edge of the abyss, Natalia understood that what had begun as an accident in a restricted apartment was transforming into something much bigger: a fight against an empire, against a family name, against the lie that had buried her father. And that the next fall could be the final one… or the one that would finally launch her to the surface.

The next morning, Navarro Corp greeted her with glass, suits, and judgmental stares. In the boardroom, a gray-haired man named Eduardo, the chairman of the board, made no attempt to hide his contempt.

“This is unacceptable,” he said. “You’re going to hire the daughter of a criminal in the security department. It’s a risk to everyone.”

Natalia felt her face burning.

—My father was innocent…

“Your opinion doesn’t matter, girl,” Eduardo spat. “The facts speak for themselves.”

Andrés remained unperturbed.

—The facts show that Natalia solved a problem that no one here could.

—He was lucky.

Andrés turned towards Natalia.

—Then let’s do a test.

Natalia blinked.

—What kind of test?

“Tonight,” he said, “at the charity dinner. The chef in charge is Amelie Valier, a three-Michelin-starred chef. You said your father cooked better. Prove it.”

The room fell silent. Eduardo laughed sarcastically.

—He probably doesn’t even know how to fry an egg.

Natalia felt a spark inside that wasn’t just anger. It was the memory of Ernesto telling her, “Cooking is telling a story.” It was her pride. Her last untouched legacy.

—I accept.

The event’s kitchen was a glittering battlefield. Amelie, tall, precise, with a French accent, looked at it the way one looks at a system error.

—Here we cook with technique, not with luck.

Natalia didn’t answer. She chose a young dishwasher named Leo as her assistant, and the two moved with the urgency of those without a safety net. Natalia closed her eyes for a second, imagining her father by her side, adjusting the salt, smelling the sauce, trusting her.

When the dishes came out, Amelie’s was a work of art. Natalia’s seemed simple… until the aroma filled everything, warm and real, like a house that still exists in memory.

Andrés tasted Natalia’s dish first. He closed his eyes.

“This reminds me of something familiar,” he murmured.

But then, as was inevitable, the Luján name resurfaced. Mónica, seated among the elite, recognized it and raised her voice:

“That’s the daughter of the criminal chef! I wouldn’t try anything she’s made.”

All eyes were fixed on Natalia. Her heart trembled, as if the whole world were about to repeat the same fate. Andrés approached Mónica with an icy smile.

—Ms. Luján, if you refuse to taste the dish, you will be disqualified as a judge. And if anyone else thinks the same, I will withdraw my sponsorship from all your projects.

Total silence. The elite, so brave when speaking, so cowardly in the face of money, proved it.

Minutes later, Andrés went up on stage with a golden envelope.

—By a difference of three votes… the winner is Natalia Rivas.

A murmur rippled through the room. Natalia remained motionless, as if her body couldn’t comprehend the victory.

Andrés handed him a check.

—Fifty thousand pesos and a position at Navarro Corp.

When Natalia touched the paper, she felt a lump in her throat. It wasn’t just money. It was rent, medicine, school. It was breathing.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice breaking.

Andrés smiled, and for the first time that smile felt human.

—You earned it.

The next day, the headlines devoured her: “From delivery driver to genius,” “Daughter of accused chef beats Michelin star.” And with the headlines came the vultures.

Reporters banged on his door, microphones and cameras like weapons.

—Is it true that your father taught you poisoning techniques? What’s it like working for a company your father tried to sabotage?

Natalia slammed the door shut and pressed herself against the wood, breathing with difficulty.

“Again…” she whispered. “They’re doing the same thing to me as they did to him.”

At Navarro Corp, Andrés watched the news with his jaw clenched.

—Who planted this story?

His assistant, Julian, appeared with a tablet.

—The board is demanding that I fire her. And Ramiro Luján gave an interview… he says that you are putting security at risk by hiring someone with “criminal DNA.”

Andrés forcefully turned off the screen.

—Keep investigating the Ernesto Rivas case. Everything.

What began as a security incident turned into open warfare.

In a tense meeting, Natalia told Andrés the truth about her father: how he worked for Ramiro, how he wanted to open his own place, how after being rejected, fifteen people became ill, poison was found in desserts, he was quickly arrested, had a swift trial, and died in his cell. Andrés opened a folder and showed her reports.

“There are inconsistencies. The poison doesn’t cause the symptoms they presented. Someone tampered with the evidence.”

Natalia felt like she couldn’t breathe.

-That…?

Before he could continue, Monica stormed into the office with guards and a news crew, trying to turn the whole thing into a spectacle. Andres threw them out, but the damage was done: the board was planning to oust him, the press was fabricating rumors, and Ramiro was smiling on camera as if the world was his by right.

That same afternoon, Natalia was followed as she left a coffee shop. A black car cut her off. Two men got out, wearing hoods.

—The Luján family sends their regards.

Natalia backed away, clutching her purse like a shield. One of them attacked her. The other grabbed her from behind. She screamed, she fought, but fear was a hand at her throat.

Then a car braked suddenly. Andrés jumped out like lightning, accompanied by two guards.

—Let her go now!

The attackers hesitated long enough for Natalia to break free with a thud and run toward Andrés. The men fled. Natalia was trembling. Andrés held her carefully, as if he feared the world would shatter her.

“This is just the beginning,” he said, his anger barely contained. “They’re desperate.”

That night, under a fine rain that made the asphalt sparkle, Andrés confessed what he had discovered: the detective on the case was living in Lisbon under a different name, bought off, in hiding. He needed proof.

“I’m going to Lisbon tomorrow,” Andrés said. “If I don’t bring back solid evidence in two weeks, the council will kick me out.”

Natalia looked at him, and for the first time she understood the magnitude of the risk he was taking for her.

—I’m going with you.

—It’s dangerous.

—More than staying here.

Something shifted in that instant. It wasn’t a speech. It was a look that lingered a second longer than usual, as if they’d both shed their “CEO” and “delivery girl” masks. Andrés leaned in and kissed her with a tenderness that felt like a question. Natalia responded with the kind of answer that had been waiting years for permission.

Someone took photos from the shadows.

Three days later, the news broke: Andrés “disappeared” in Europe, Navarro Corp teetering on the brink, Ramiro giving interviews feigning concern. Natalia lived locked away in a secure apartment, with guards, anxiety gnawing at her every minute. Until, finally, a phone call.

“Natalia… it’s me,” Andrés’ voice sounded distant. “Don’t speak, just listen. I found the inspector. He confessed everything. They bribed him to frame your father. I’m coming back with proof…”

The call was cut off.

That morning, a headline appeared: Andrés’s private jet was landing. Natalia tried to breathe. She fell asleep from exhaustion. And when she woke up, life hit her again: an ambulance on television, a man on a stretcher, Andrés’s face, the headline: “Andrés Navarro attacked inside his office. Serious condition.”

Natalia dressed with trembling hands. Julián called her.

—Don’t go to the hospital. It’s full of reporters. Andrés left something for you. Come to the warehouse.

There, in a drab office, Natalia opened a black folder and a USB drive. Inside was a signed confession from Inspector Gutiérrez: bribes, planted evidence, a closed lab, missing samples, a judge with family connections. And recordings of the inspector’s voice admitting everything: Ramiro Luján had destroyed Ernesto out of fear of the competition.

Natalia clutched the folder to her chest. Years of shame melted away like smoke.

“This cleanses my dad…” she whispered.

—And it’s sinking Ramiro —said Julián—. It’s already leaking out.

At the hospital, Natalia entered through a private corridor. Andrés was connected to monitors, his face bruised, one arm bandaged. He seemed more fragile than ever. Natalia approached and took his hand.

“You did it,” he whispered. “You cleared his name.”

Andrés opened his eyes with effort and barely smiled.

—Natalia… don’t talk… —he murmured—. I signed you up… for the national competition.

She looked at him, confused.

“Ramiro is a sponsor,” he continued, almost breathless. “You have to go. Let everyone see who you are.”

Natalia felt a new heartbeat inside her chest: not just relief, but purpose.

As she stepped outside, the world was abuzz with flashes and questions, but for the first time, her legs didn’t tremble. She held her chin high before the cameras.

“My father, Ernesto Rivas, was the victim of a conspiracy. Today his name has been cleared. And yes… I’m going to compete in the final. I’m ready to prove that my father’s legacy lives on.”

Somewhere, Ramiro Luján was surely gritting his teeth. Elsewhere, the city murmured. But Natalia no longer heard the poison of the past as a sentence, but as a distant noise that no longer had power over her.

Because sometimes life shouts at you: “If you’re so smart, fix it,” not to humiliate you, but to force you to remember who you are when everything is trying to erase you. And Natalia Rivas, the delivery woman who beat the system, had done just that.