The late afternoon sun had dropped behind the mountain ridges around Valle de Bravo, leaving the sky in cool shade and lavender light.

I walked along the upper stone terrace of the estate, listening to the quiet rustle of pine needles in the mountain breeze.

Samuel came out through the arched library door carrying a thin red leather binder and his reading glasses.

“The county recorder finalized the title entries at four o’clock,” Samuel said, stopping beside the stone balustrade.

“Every square meter of the commercial plaza and the sixty acres in the valley is locked under your name.”

I touched the thin gold band on my right index finger and looked out toward the dark water of the lake.