The ivory envelope landed on the dark mahogany table with a sharp, heavy thud.

Doña Victoria set her silver coffee spoon against her saucer, her manicured nail clicking twice on the porcelain.

Across the table, Alejandro didn’t look up from pouring his orange juice.

“Why is mail arriving at my house with a family crest on the flap?” Doña Victoria asked.

I smoothed the front of my cream linen apron.

“It was addressed to me,” I said.

Doña Victoria reached across the table and pulled the envelope toward her plate before my fingers could touch it.

She turned it over and ran a clipped fingernail along the thick gold wax seal.

“You don’t receive letters sealed in gold, Elena,” she said, her voice dropping into the smooth, theatrical purr she used when she meant to cut deep.

“The delivery driver said it was from an estate administrator,” I said quietly.

Alejandro set the crystal juice pitcher down hard enough to splash yellow drops onto the white linen napkin.

“My mother asked you a question,” Alejandro said, adjusting the strap of his gold watch with a quick tug of his thumb.

“It’s probably a catalog for art restoration supplies,” I said.

Doña Victoria slid the envelope into the side pocket of her silk handbag and zipped it shut with a slow, deliberate pull.

“You should be grateful my family lets you sit at our table, Elena, let alone receive formal mail at our address,” she said.

She picked up her cup and took a slow sip, looking over the rim straight into my eyes.

“If it’s important, our family attorney will look at it first.”

By eleven thirty, the heat from the Zapopan asphalt had settled thick inside my silver sedan as I pulled into the underground garage of Mendoza Development.