[NPEP] Vargas does not play ball

Mateo let out a sharp laugh, bitter and humorless. “Build a fairer Montesoro? You mean the same Montesoro where your "Productivity Enhancement Plan" will work us to ****? Where men collapsed in the mines because they couldn’t meet your quotas, and their families were left with nothing with their only breadwinner dead?”

Isabella’s jaw clenched, a flicker of anger in her eyes. “It was a necessary action to cope with the guerilla attacks that have been killing innocent workers and strangling the economy. Productivity was in the gutter, and you know that the stability of the nation was at stake.”

“You stabilized nothing but the wallets of your friends,” Mateo interrupted, his voice rising. “Do you know how many died last month alone? Thirty-four. Thirty-four men who gave everything to this place, and for what? To feed your gilded ambitions?”

Before she could respond, a commotion outside the hall drew their attention. The sound of angry voices, loud and growing louder, filtered through the thin walls. Mateo glanced toward the door, a grim smile playing on his lips.

“You’ve stirred the hornet’s nest, Reyes,” he said. “And then you stepped right in the middle of it. That was a mistake, Presidente.”

The crowd outside had swelled, the initial angry murmur transforming into full-throated roars of dissent. Isabella could hear her guards trying to keep the protesters at bay, their shouted commands barely audible over the din. She stepped toward the window, pulling back the ragged curtain to peek outside. The sight made her heart race. A sea of workers, their faces twisted with rage and desperation, surged against the flimsy barrier of her security detail, their fists pounding the air in unison. The chant was unmistakable: "Reyes out! Viva la revolución!"

She turned to face Mateo, his defiance clear as day. “You planned this,” she accused, her voice edged with steel.

He shrugged, his eyes never leaving hers. “I didn’t have to plan anything, Presidente. Your actions did that for me.”

At that moment, the crowd breached the perimeter. They flooded into the hall, the air thick with their fury. Isabella's guards were swept aside, overwhelmed by the sheer number of assailants.

Her mind raced. To call for reinforcements would risk inciting a bloodbath, but to flee would be an admission of weakness. She **** herself to stand tall, meeting Mateo’s glare with one of her own.

“You think this will break me?” she said, her voice low but firm. “I’ve faced worse than angry men with pitchforks. If they want to come for me, they’ll find I’m not so easily toppled.”

Mateo shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe you’ll finally see what it feels like to be powerless.”