At two o’clock the next afternoon, the sound of heavy engines rolling over gravel reached the terrace.

Five black luxury SUVs turned off the public highway one by one, their dark tinted windows glinting in the sun.

Thirty-two members of the extended Mendoza family sat inside the convoy, wearing custom linen suits and silk dresses chosen for what they believed would be a cheap spectacle.

In the front passenger seat of the lead vehicle, Doña Victoria sat with her chin raised, looking out the side window at the stone boundary walls.

“She probably paid some caretaker fifty pesos to let her use his gravel turnoff for ten minutes,” Doña Victoria said, her voice dripping with mockery.