“Elena,” Alejandro said, adjusting his gold watch strap as he stepped right into my path.

“What are you doing outside the city registry?”

Oscar stepped up beside him, his brass fountain pen clipped neatly into the pocket of his tailored suit.

“Mrs.

Mendoza,” Oscar said, his voice clipped and dry.

“The archive building handles commercial property titles and tax rolls.

An art restorer has no professional business on the fourth floor.”

I kept my leather shoulder bag tucked firmly under my arm.