Two years later. Michel's startup consulting had grown into Martinez Systems Solutions. The name etched on the door was simple, no fancy logos or corporate pretense. Just good work done by people who understood that dignity came in many forms.
He employed eight people—Elena's grandson Miguel, fresh from college with ideas bigger than his experience. Jenny, now CTO, building systems that major companies licensed. Three other night-shift workers he'd met: Marcus pursuing his degree days while coding nights, Leticia managing client relations between her growing catering empire, James handling hardware with the same care he'd shown fixing corporate elevators.
And Carlos, director of operations, who'd learned to code with the desperation of a drowning man finding shore. He'd never forgotten Michel's pozole or the second chance served with it.
The office was small, unglamorous. Second floor of a strip mall, between a tax service and a quinceañera shop. But on the wall hung Sophie's painted mug—the backwards 'd' now a company joke about perfect imperfection. Next to it, a photo—not from Padre Island, but from their kitchen table the night they'd almost lost everything. Maria had taken it without them knowing: Michel surrounded by tamale husks and children, David explaining spreadsheets while Sophie painted labels, a family choosing to build rather than break.
"Dad, this recursive function isn't working." David, now thirteen, worked there after school, teaching himself to code with Jenny's guidance. His voice had started changing, cracking between boy and man.
Sophie, ten, had claimed a corner desk for her own business—"励 Warriors" ("Never Give Up" in Chinese characters she'd learned to draw)—little painted rocks with messages of hope. She sold them online, donating half to families facing eviction. Her artist's eye had evolved from backwards letters to intentional beauty.
"Let me see." Michel leaned over David's shoulder, the same way he'd once reviewed quarterly reports. Different numbers, same love of solving problems. Through the window, he could see Brennan Industries' tower, its lights beginning to flicker on for the night shift.
Elena would be there soon, pushing her cart, training someone new. She'd turned down his job offer twice. "Twenty-two years there," she'd said. "It's my territory now. Besides, someone needs to leave notes for the lost executives."