Zita hugged Bea, keeping an eye on the judge. She could render her decision immediately, or she could postpone it.
The judge cleared her throat. “In the matter of Beatriz Morales’ application for relief from removal, I hereby grant her relief. Beatriz may stay in the United States.”
Zita didn’t listen to the rest. She hugged Beatriz. “You’re staying,” she said. “You’re staying with us.”
Beatriz burst into tears and Zita held the girl tightly. She ushered them out of the room and thanked Shelly.
“It’s my pleasure. The DHS has a couple of weeks to lodge an appeal, but I don’t think they’ll do that. In the meantime, you know what you need to do from here, don’t you, Zita?”
“Yes.” She’d been through the documentation requirements many times over the past few years.
“I think you know it better than I do,” Shelly laughed. “If you had formal qualifications, you wouldn’t need me at all.”
Zita smiled. She wanted to talk to Shelly about that, but not while Beatriz was here. “I’ll be in touch.”
They said their goodbyes and Zita called her mother.
“How did it go?”
“Application was approved. Beatriz is staying.” She held the cell away from her ear as her mother shrieked in delight. Beatriz giggled. “We’ll be home soon. I’ll pick up something for dinner so we can celebrate.”
“Good idea.”
Zita hung up and put an arm around Beatriz. “Come on,niñita. We’ve got a celebration to organize.”
***
David checked his calendar and breathed a sigh of relief. No meetings for at least three hours. That had to be a record. He hated sitting in those rooms, wasting time talking about things without any decisions being made. There had to be a better way. But each time he brought it up with his father, he was ignored.
He glanced at his screen. He had to finish a report he’d been trying to complete all last week. It was one of those mind-numbing chores that had to be done and he hated it. If he was honest, there wasn’t much he enjoyed about his job. Zita’s question the other day had really made him stop and think. He’d love a job where he was challenged, where he had the freedom to do what he wanted, where he was in charge. At college, he’d briefly considered creating his own consultancy firm — he liked coming up with ideas and making them happen — but he’d known even then that he’d had no choice.
He shook his head. There was no point dreaming. He put on his headphones, choosing the rock playlist on his phone, turned it up loud, and got to work.
As soon as he opened the spreadsheet, something nudged his shoulder. He turned, taking the headphones off, and was confronted with a scowling father. He smiled. “Bob.”
“You can’t hear a damned thing with those things on. I’ve been standing here talking to you and you haven’t heard a word.”
“My apologies.” David stopped the music. “What can I do for you?” He gestured to a chair, but Bob remained standing.
“I’m running for governor.”
David’s eyebrows rose. “Congratulations.”
“I’ll announce it next month, and you’ll become acting CEO. You need to get one of your team members up to speed to fill in for you.”
That was fast, way too fast for David’s comfort. His stomach started churning. Should he tell his father he didn’t want to take over?
No, he couldn’t. There was no other succession plan, and he couldn’t leave his father in the lurch.
“You’ve been following a couple of migrant cases, haven’t you?” Bob asked.
“Yeah.” He pushed his concern aside and reached for the file where he was recording his thoughts and research on the immigration process.
“Good.” Bob took the file from him and flicked through it. He nodded, and handed it back. “It’s going to be one of my main policies.”
David smiled. “That’s great. I wanted to talk to you about it. The assessment process takes too long. There’s a family in El Salvador who are in danger, but it could be six months before their application is processed.”
“They should go to their own government for help.”
