Doña Victoria picked up the crumpled document with two fingers and glanced dismissively at the formal heading.

“Varela Trust?” Doña Victoria sneered, letting out a short, mocking laugh.

“That quiet little art restorer is trying to frighten us with her dead father’s name?”

“She owns the commercial plaza, Mother,” Alejandro said, pacing back and forth across the rug.

“Oscar checked the land titles himself.”

“Oscar is a timid lawyer who panics at the sight of a notary stamp,” Doña Victoria declared, tossing the paper onto the sofa cushion beside her.

“The girl has no money, no social standing, and no power.”