I wondered whether she realized that the bank code printed at the top belonged to a private commercial clearing account.

At one in the afternoon, I stood at the high marble counter of the Suburban Bank branch on Avenida Vallarta.

The teller took three minutes to cross-check the nine-digit account number I had written on a notepad.

“This transfer came from a commercial credit line,” the teller said, leaning closer to her screen.

“The main account is held under a registered estate trust.”

Before she could print the summary, a tall man in a tailored gray suit set a dark leather briefcase on the marble counter next to my elbow.