The manager didn’t give away the name of the person who sent the e-mail, but all eyes were on Denka, which led to several regrettable situations. People scrawled things like “Whore!” and “Treacherous bitch!” on her time card, there were shouting matches in the bathroom, and people even threatened violence. Denka went on medical leave for a few weeks due to stress. But when she came back the aggression didn’t stop, and finally she quit.

“It’s not as if Denka didn’t have her reasons,” I said. “I even think I envy her a little,” I concluded as I twirled fettuccini noodles around my fork.

“You envy her?” asked Dorothy.

I chewed and swallowed quickly.

“I mean, she did something I never would have dared to do. And I’m not saying that because I’m against the parties . . . Considering the late hours, the salary, the terrible conditions and all that, the least they could do was have a little fun. I’ve always thought you have to stick it to the man a little with these corporate places. Balance things out a little. The problem was Diego—you can’t live in a glass house and also treat people unfairly. Someone’s going to end up making you pay, right? Everything in life comes back to you,” I declared in a know-it-all tone.

“Everything in life comes back to you . . .” repeated Dorothy. She leaned toward me, rested her elbows on the table, and pointed her fork at me. “Do you really think Denka would have dared do something like that?” she asked, looking me in the eyes.

“Who else?”

She leaned back in her chair again and clasped her hands.

“Well,” she said, widening her eyes, “Denka wasn’t the only one who had something against Diego . . .” She let the words float in the air as she cocked her head to the side and bit her lips.

“You sent that mail?”

Dorothy nodded, smiling.

“Are you joking?” I asked her, and I burst out laughing.

She gave me a defiant look.

“But why? How? Why?” I asked. The office workers two tables down turned to look at me.

“Let’s just say it was revenge,” she explained serenely. “You remember how I used to go out with Diego?”

“Yeah, that’s why I don’t get it.”

“Diego was ‘unfair,’ as you say. But not just at work,” she said, forcing a mysterious tone. Then she was silent for a while.

“But what happened?” I said. “They kicked him to the curb without paying him a cent. You could have ended up fired, too. All of us could have,” I said, trying not to sound reproachful. “Didn’t you care?”

“They weren’t going to fire anyone else, they just said that to pressure people. Do you really think they would get rid of their whole night shift from one day to the next?”

“No, but—”

“You remember Lisette?” she asked. “She worked the lunch shift.”