Below the stone balustrade, the full moon lay across the calm water of the lake like a wide sheet of polished silver.

Samuel stepped through the open French doors behind me, carrying the thick dark leather file labeled Varela Trust.

He set a heavy wooden clipboard on the outdoor glass table next to my porcelain coffee cup.

“This is the final registry document for the state land records,” Samuel said.

“Your signature on page four completes the whole corporate restructuring.”

I took the pen from his hand and wrote my maiden name on the ruled white line at the bottom of the page.

Samuel closed the heavy folder with a firm, quiet thump that echoed off the stone walls of the villa.