Haitian Ran

Ran left early to "serve her country," a euphemism for her troubles. In the dining room, your friends are lurking.
"Oh, look at those dark circles under your eyes, didn't you sleep? They say Ran bought an apartment in the Zona Rosa," Chata says maliciously.
You don't even blink. You order coffee and pronounce judgments:
—Let him buy the building. The maintenance comes from the Foundation that I manage. If he has a "branch" it's because I give him the line of credit.
In the "Hands of Light" office, the accountant Don José trembles:
—The budget is inflated by 400%, if the Treasury gets involved... You cut it off immediately:
—The tax authorities don't bother me where I put flowers. Tomorrow the construction company's "donation" arrives; we'll buy notebooks for the photo and the rest from Caimán. Ran needs cash.
At the gala, her lover tries to mark his territory:
—Don Ran told me about his social work. You sweep him off his feet with your eyes:
—Girl, I sign his checks. You're a tax-deductible expense. If I decide to audit him, he'll be out of a career and you'll be homeless. She runs away. In the Cadillac, Ran reaches for your hand:
—You're the best partner. You smile; he's the puppet and you pull the strings.