“That’s a quarterly distribution statement from my late father,” I said, keeping my voice low and calm.

“Your father left you a small suitcase and a drawer full of dust,” she said.

She folded the slip twice and slid it into her sweater pocket.

“You’ve been hoarding household cash while my son works sixty hours a week to keep this family afloat.”

“The account name on that slip is the Varela Trust,” I said.

“It has nothing to do with Alejandro or your family business.”

Doña Victoria gave a sharp scoff and straightened the brass paperweight on the desk.