The bedroom door opened without a knock, and Doña Victoria stepped in, her eyes fixed on me.

She walked straight to the vanity table in the corner, reached behind the wooden backing of the mirror, and pulled out a folded carbon paper slip.

It was the bank transfer receipt she had stashed behind the frame earlier that week.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find your little hidden record?” she asked, dropping the paper into my open suitcase.

I looked down at the receipt and recognized the fifty-thousand-dollar deposit slip from the Varela Trust’s main account.