The transition from the quiet, sun-drenched courtyard of Casa de los Niños to the opulent, almost surreal luxury of Saudi Arabia was a jarring, disorienting experience that left Mateo feeling like he had stepped through a portal into another dimension.
One moment, he was surrounded by the familiar, comforting sights and sounds of his childhood home; the laughter of children, the gentle chiding of Sister Maria Elena, the wise counsel of Don Carlo.
The next, he was in a private jet, soaring through the clouds at thirty thousand feet, on his way to a world he had only ever seen in movies and magazines.
The jet was a marvel of modern engineering, a flying palace that defied every conception he had ever had of air travel.
The cabin was larger than the main hall of the Casa, with plush leather seats that could recline into full beds, a fully stocked bar with champagne that cost more than most people earned in a month, and a personal chef who catered to his every culinary whim.
