“Elena showed up on our doorstep five years ago with no family connections and not a single peso to her name.”

The associate gave a polite nod and shifted uncomfortably in his high-backed chair.

“She would be completely destitute without our monthly living allowance,” Doña Victoria added, taking three measured steps until she stood right behind my right shoulder.

Before I could step away toward the serving cart, her fingers slipped into the side pocket of my linen dress.

She drew her hand back holding the silver-mounted pearl brooch my mother had given me before she died.

“What is this doing in your pocket?” Doña Victoria asked, her voice dropping into a sharp, accusing pitch that silenced the room at once.