“I don’t want your cash,” I said in a low, calm voice.

“Listen to me,” Alejandro said, his voice rising as he adjusted his gold watch strap.

“You have no income.

You have no home.

You’re staying in some cheap room in the suburbs, burning through whatever little money your father left you.”

“My income isn’t your concern anymore,” I said.

“You’re offering two thousand dollars because you need to stop me from filing a property audit before the Easter lease deadline,” I added, looking him straight in the eye.

Oscar stepped forward, holding his brass pen against his palm.