My phone buzzed during a board meeting with a notification from the kindergarten parents' group. The teacher had tagged me: "Mrs. Daniels, your daughter is expelled. Pick her up now." I typed, "Why?" "Leo's Mom" replied arrogantly, "Your daughter didn't call my son 'young master.' Isn't that reason enough? My husband is Liam Gomez, brother of the richest man, Miles Gomez. Got a problem?" Before I could respond, the teacher apologized to her: "Mrs. Gomez, I'm sorry I scolded Leo when he hit your daughter. My mistake! I'll award him in class tomorrow." The chat flooded with fawning praise. Someone posted a photo of my bruised, tearful daughter, tagging me: "Being beaten by the wealthiest man's nephew is a blessing. Don't be ungrateful." My blood ran cold. Liam Gomez was my brother—but he died ten years ago. I ended the meeting and raced to the kindergarten, messaging my legal team: "Find who's impersonating my dead brother. My daughter was assaulted there. Bring a team—make them pay." 1 When I pulled up to the kindergarten, I saw her immediately—Leo’s Mom, holding court by the school gate, surrounded by a gaggle of other parents. “Mrs. Gomez, you’re so modest! If it weren’t for this, we would have never known your husband was Miles Gomez’s brother.” “Exactly! The moment I saw you, I knew you had an air of nobility about you. It’s that Gomez family aura!” “We’re here to support you today. Your Leo is the little prince of our class. We can’t have him being bullied by just any riffraff!” “That’s right! Any child who makes the young master resort to violence must be trash. I’ve already told my son to be Leo’s loyal follower and protect him at all costs!” Even my daughter’s teacher was there, bowing and scraping before this woman. “Mrs. Gomez, the Daniels girl was insolent. She deserved to be beaten and expelled. Your Leo is a brave and powerful boy, unafraid to express his emotions. I will hold him up as a model for all the other students!” “Also,” the teacher added, her voice dripping with sycophancy, “if you could send me a list of Leo’s favorite foods, we will adjust the entire kindergarten’s menu to his tastes.” Leo’s Mom preened under the flattery, a proud peacock puffing out its chest. My brother, Liam, had been a humble, kind, and decent man. We were inseparable, working side-by-side to build the Gomez Group into the empire it was today. But the work took its toll. He fell ill and passed away far too young. I honored his wish for a quiet, private funeral, then channeled my grief into my work, determined to fulfill his dream of making our company number one. Now, after ten years of my relentless effort, my success had become this woman’s social capital. I was furious, and utterly bewildered. Who was this man, this impostor, who had given her the audacity to act with such impunity and to allow my daughter to be so brutally bullied? When the group of parents saw me approaching, their fawning smiles vanished, replaced by scowls of disgust, as if I were something vile they’d scraped off their shoes. The teacher marched up to me, her face a mask of contempt. "The director himself ordered your daughter's expulsion. I suggest you learn to control her, and teach her to know her place." I stared at her, my voice dangerously low. "My daughter was assaulted in your school. Instead of seeking justice for her, you expel the victim to curry favor with the powerful?" The teacher scoffed. "This is an elite kindergarten. We prioritize the status of our students. The Gomez family is not someone a low-life like you can afford to offend." My expression hardened. "I suggest you do your research and find out exactly who I am." Before I could say more, Leo's Mom stepped forward and slapped me hard across the face. "Who the hell do you think you are," she sneered, "to talk about status here? No matter who you are, you'll never be more important than my husband." 2 The slap stunned me. The other parents erupted in jeers. "Hilarious! A member of the Gomez family is right here, and this nobody dares to talk about status?" "She's probably so low-class she doesn't even know what the Gomez name means." "Being beaten by Miles Gomez's nephew is an honor for trash like her. I don't know what she's complaining about." They spat insults, some literally spitting in my direction, telling me I was worse than garbage. I took off my jacket—a custom piece worth a small fortune—and tossed it into a nearby trash can. Then I faced Leo’s Mom. "First, your son assaults my daughter, and now you assault me. Are you not afraid of the law?" She laughed as if I’d told the world’s funniest joke. "You really have no idea how powerful the Gomez family is, do you? My husband is Miles Gomez’s brother. Do you think the law can touch me?" She held up her designer handbag. "See this? A gift from my husband. The silk scarf tied to the handle is worth more than you and your daughter’s lives combined." I looked at the bag. It was indeed priceless, but for some reason, it looked familiar. "That's strange," I said, my voice deceptively calm. "I had no idea Liam Gomez was married, let alone had a child. Why don't you call your husband over? I'd like to meet him." My brother had been dead for a decade. How could he have a five-year-old son? I was going to find out who dared to impersonate him and unleash this monstrous woman and her child on the world. Leo's Mom threw her head back and laughed. "My husband's marriage is not something a bottom-feeder like you needs to be informed of. And you want to meet him? On what grounds?" "On the grounds," I said, my voice ringing with cold authority, "that I am Liam Gomez’s sister. My name is Amelia Gomez." 3 The crowd erupted in derisive laughter. Leo's Mom glanced at the car I had arrived in and sneered. "You drive that piece of junk and dare to call yourself a Gomez? Are you delusional from poverty?" She laughed again. "I'm Miles Gomez's sister-in-law. You think I wouldn't recognize his own sister?" The other parents followed her gaze to my car, their mockery growing louder. "I wouldn't be caught dead in a trash heap like that!" "Look at her, poor and pathetic. No wonder her daughter is such a brat. They both deserve a good beating!" "Why do poor people like her even try to get into a school like this? It's disgusting." My car was, indeed, a ten-year-old domestic model. But it was a rare, custom-built vehicle, far from cheap. Its understated design meant few recognized its value. And now, it was the reason they refused to believe me. "Today, I'll teach you the price of impersonating a Gomez!" Before I could say another word, Leo’s Mom picked up a brick from the side of the road and began smashing my car with a vengeance. Windows, headlights, hood—she didn't spare a single inch. The other parents, caught up in the frenzy, joined in, grabbing whatever they could find and laying into the vehicle. They shattered the windows, then reached inside to slash the leather seats and destroy the interior. In moments, my pristine car was a wreck. "Look! She's got stuff in the trunk!" one of them yelled after prying it open. Leo’s Mom sauntered over, pulled out a scroll painting, and scoffed, "A piece of trash driving a trashy car, pretending to be a collector. How sophisticated." With that, she tore the ancient painting to shreds. Everything in the trunk was from a recent auction, priceless antiques I hadn't had time to move to storage. "I hope you'll be as enthusiastic when it's time to pay for that," I warned, my voice dangerously quiet. She just laughed in my face. "What could a low-life like you possibly own that's of any value? A pile of fakes, not even worth the price of my lunch! Besides, with the Gomez family's connections, no court in this city would dare make me pay." She then proceeded to destroy the rest of the antiques. The other parents, emboldened by her, joined in the rampage. I watched the lawless mob and calmly took out my phone. "Where are you? I want you here in three minutes." Before the person on the other end could reply, one of the parents snatched my phone and smashed it on the ground. "Still trying to call for backup? You're really committed to this act, aren't you? Think you're some big shot? You're probably just calling a bunch of beggars to come and play along!" The laughter and insults started again. There’s no reasoning with fools on a path to self-destruction. All I wanted was to see my daughter. I ignored them and walked toward the school entrance. The director came out to block my path. "A low-life like you is not welcome here." My eyes were like chips of ice. "I want my daughter." "She's been expelled," he sneered. "A teacher will bring her out." Just then, the front door opened, and my daughter was thrown out, her little backpack flying after her. She landed hard on the pavement and burst into tears. I rushed to her, scooping her into my arms. I turned to the director, my voice shaking with rage. "Is this how you treat your students?" He looked at me with utter contempt. "A piece of trash born from a poor bitch. Does she deserve to be a student here? We're just throwing out the garbage. What's the problem?" 4 The other parents applauded. "Well said, Director! Fair and just!" "This is an elite school, not a place for stray dogs." "Why does trash need an education anyway? She’ll just end up selling her body or picking through garbage. You should teach her how to scavenge. Maybe she'll find something more valuable than that wreck of a car!" Leo’s Mom grew even more arrogant. "People of your class should know their place. You are destined to live at the bottom, despised by all." The insults washed over me. The more they screamed, the wider Leo’s Mom smiled. The director took the opportunity to grovel. "Mrs. Gomez, if you are satisfied with how this was handled, perhaps you could do us a small favor. As you know, we are planning to expand, but the surrounding land is all owned by the Gomez Group..." Leo’s Mom crossed her arms, looking down her nose at him. "Don't worry. I was very pleased with your performance today. I'll have a word with my husband. He'll gift the land to you." The director beamed. "Thank you, Mrs. Gomez, thank you!" The other parents swarmed her, offering gifts and begging for favors. Business deals, partnerships, unlimited gift cards for luxury stores—they showered her with offerings, some even stuffing bank cards into her purse. She reveled in it, basking in their adoration. She walked over to me, her voice dripping with condescension. "Do you feel it? The gap between people in this world is greater than the gap between a person and a dog. Trash like you will never experience what it's like to be worshiped. But I, as a Gomez, can enjoy a glory you can only dream of." She leaned in, her voice a venomous hiss. "I'll give you one day. Take your little garbage daughter and get out of this city. If I ever see her polluting my son’s sight again, I’ll bury the little mutt alive." My daughter trembled in my arms. "Mommy, I'm scared," she whimpered. "It hurts..." Her voice was filled with a terror that tore at my heart. I looked closer and saw them—thin, red lines crisscrossing the skin beneath her torn clothes. Knife cuts. My vision went red. "Did your son do this?" I demanded. Leo's Mom glanced at the cuts and shrugged. "What's the big deal? She was lucky he didn't kill her for upsetting him." The moment the words left her mouth, I slapped her. Hard. It was a blow fueled by all my pent-up rage. She staggered back, stunned. Before I could strike again, one of the other parents grabbed my hair and threw me to the ground. They descended on me like a pack of wolves, kicking and punching. "How dare you touch Mrs. Gomez, you worthless bitch!" "Your little mutt isn't dead yet! Are you in a hurry to join her?" "Being disciplined by the young master is an honor for that trash! What good could come from a low-life like you? She deserves to be beaten to death!" Even the director kicked me. "Don't hit my mommy!" my daughter cried, trying to intervene. A fat boy—Leo—shoved her to the ground. The director patted Leo’s head. "What a good boy, punishing the wicked. Tomorrow, I'll give you a special award in front of the whole school!" Leo grinned. "I'll beat that little piece of trash every time I see her!" I lay on the ground, bruised and bleeding. I looked up, my eyes burning. "You will all regret this." They howled with laughter. "Did you hear that? The low-life is making threats!" "She really thinks she's someone, doesn't she? With Miles Gomez backing her, Mrs. Gomez could crush this bitch like an ant!" "All she has left is empty rage! Pathetic!" They held me down, showering me with insults. The crowd of onlookers jeered, calling me a fool. Leo’s Mom, triumphant, ground the heel of her stiletto into my cheek. "Regret?" she crowed. "I've never regretted a thing in my life. I can't wait to see how a piece of trash like you is going to make me regret this!" Just then, a roar of engines filled the air. A convoy of over a hundred black luxury cars, each bearing the Gomez family crest, sped down the street and screeched to a halt in front of the kindergarten. The doors flew open, and an army of men in sharp, tailored suits poured out.
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