Angela stayed in the background, gripping her mop like an anchor.

She had never sought the spotlight; she simply refused to stay silent in the face of the obvious.

Victor was immediately treated. Following Angela’s guidance, the staff administered Prussian blue.

Gradually, Victor’s vital signs stabilized, color returned to his skin, and the deadly decline came to a halt.

One crucial question remained: who had slipped the poison into the cream? Investigators soon discovered that the product came from Jefferson Burke, Victor’s business partner. His unchecked ambition was meant to open the doors to power—until the FBI led him away in handcuffs.

Word spread through the corridors: a cleaning woman had seen what twenty experts had failed to see. Angela’s shadow suddenly became a name whispered with respect.

When Victor, awake but still weak, asked to meet her, Angela stepped forward timidly. He took her hand.
— You saved my life. How did you know?

She spoke of her interrupted studies, of her love for chemistry. He did not laugh. Instead, he said:

— Your place is in a laboratory, not behind a mop.

A few weeks later, Angela returned to university, supported by a scholarship created especially for her.

As for Victor, he learned that one can accumulate all the wealth in the world and still miss what truly matters: knowing how to listen to those everyone else overlooks or ignores.