On a crisp autumn afternoon in Madrid, the kind of day when the air carried both the chill of the season and the promise of change, eleven-year-old Marcos wandered along his neighborhood’s narrow streets. He often collected empty bottles to earn a few extra coins. His mother, Anna, worked long hours as a cleaner, and though their home was filled with love, their finances were constantly stretched thin.
As Marcos moved past a row of dumpsters, he noticed something that didn’t quite fit with the otherwise polished street. A well-dressed man in a tailored suit was tossing a nearly new leather jacket into the bin. The jacket looked far too expensive to be discarded. Marcos hesitated, watching the man walk toward a sleek black car.
