Rain pelted the windshield of the battered yellow taxi as Pablo tugged the brim of the cap he had bought just hours earlier. His fingers—accustomed to inking million-dollar deals and raising champagne flutes at elite fundraisers—now trembled against the cracked steering wheel. Never in his wildest dreams had he pictured himself here, undercover as a cab driver, preparing to follow his own wife.
Pablo had built his fortune from the ground up. His name regularly graced headlines, his face smiled from glossy magazine covers, and his luxury hotels spanned the globe. Yet in that moment, slouched in the worn seat of a borrowed taxi, he felt like the loneliest man in the world.
It had started just seven days earlier. While plugging in Catarina’s phone to charge, a message had flashed across the screen:
“See you tomorrow at 3, like always. I love you.”
The message had cut deep. Catarina—his poised, graceful wife, the woman who had stood with him through every hardship and triumph—seemed to be in love with someone else.
Bringing in a private investigator felt too dangerous. One slip, one photograph, and the media would pounce. His business empire might endure, but his dignity wouldn’t.
Then his trusted driver, Fernando, made a bold suggestion:
“Sir, why not go undercover? Pose as a taxi driver. Madam Catarina would never recognize you. You could uncover the truth for yourself.”
At first, Pablo waved it off as absurd. But the idea clung to him, growing stronger each day—until finally, he gave in.
A Second Life Begins
For several days, Fernando coached him—how to operate the meter, how to chat casually with passengers, how to navigate the city like a seasoned driver. Pablo traded his tailored suits for sunglasses, a flannel shirt, and the beginnings of a scruffy beard.
By the fourth day, he was stationed outside the shopping plaza Catarina often visited.
Time crawled. Every passing woman made his heart skip. Then, on the third day, he saw her. Catarina looked over her shoulder cautiously before climbing into the back seat of his cab.
“Good afternoon,” Pablo greeted her, his voice masked by a carefully rehearsed accent.
She responded with an address—one located in a humble part of town, far removed from the opulence of their sprawling estate.
