Chapter 13 - Alejandro’s Job Hunt Disaster And The True Meaning Of Unearned Privilege
Meanwhile, Alejandro Gomez avoided a multi-year prison sentence only by pleading guilty to corporate fraud and agreeing to a court-mandated five-year strict probation period with mandatory full-time employment to pay off his monthly restitution installments.
Stripped of his tailored Brioni suits, his company Lincoln, and his executive secretary, Alejandro was forced to face the real corporate job market for the first time in his life without Mariana’s name to protect him.
He spent three weeks printing cheap paper resumes at internet cafes, submitting applications for Operations Manager, Logistics Coordinator, and Supply Chain Analyst positions across the city.
On a rainy Tuesday afternoon, Alejandro sat in a cramped interview room at Transportes del Centro, a mid-tier trucking company in an industrial park outside the city.
Across the desk sat Hector Morales Jr., a sharp, thirty-year-old hiring manager reviewing Alejandro’s resume.
“Mr. Gomez,” the hiring manager said, looking up from the paper with an amused smirk. “I see here that you claim eight years of experience as Executive Vice President of Regional Operations at Ruta Norte Logística.”
Alejandro sat up straighter, trying to summon a shred of his old corporate arrogance. “Yes, sir. I managed the entire northern freight corridor. I oversaw hundreds of fleet units and multi-million-dollar dispatch algorithms.”
The hiring manager let out a loud, incredulous laugh.
“Mr. Gomez, do you think we live under a rock?” the manager asked, spinning his laptop around to face Alejandro.
On the screen was the official, unedited industry blacklist bulletin issued by the National Chamber of Freight Transportation (CANACAR):
[EXECUTIVE WARNING: ALEJANDRO GOMEZ PERMANENTLY BARRED FROM C-SUITE OPERATIONS FOR SYSTEMIC CORPORATE EMBEZZLEMENT, GROSS FIDUCIARY MISCONDUCT, AND FRAUDULENT LEASE CONVERSIONS AT RUTA NORTE LOGÍSTICA.]
Alejandro’s face burned with unbearable shame. He looked down at his scuffed shoes, unable to speak.
“Madam Mariana Hart built those algorithms from scratch,” the hiring manager said coldly. “Every logistics firm in the country knows that you were nothing more than a figurehead who couldn't even balance a diesel fuel ledger without your wife’s CFO fixing your errors.”
The manager picked up Alejandro’s resume and dropped it into the wastepaper basket beside his desk.
“We do have an open position, Mr. Gomez,” the manager added with a mocking grin. “We need a third-shift night dock worker to unload fifty-pound cement bags from cargo trailers at our logistics depot in Ecatepec. The pay is minimum wage, twelve-hour shifts, six nights a week. Do you want it, or do you want to violate your court-mandated employment probation and go straight to prison?”
Tears of pure humiliation filled Alejandro’s eyes.
He swallowed his pride, gripped his trembling knees, and whispered:
May you like
“I’ll... I’ll take the night shift, sir.”
That night, while the rain beat down on the corrugated metal roof of the cargo terminal, Alejandro Gomez hoisted heavy, dusty bags of cement under the flickering yellow floodlights, coughing in the cold air, knowing that every single peso of his meager paycheck would be automatically deducted to pay back the woman he had treated like a servant.
