It was the seating chart for the private room.

At the long table by the windows: Alton, Mildred, Lindsay, Roxanne, Grover, Roxanne’s husband Anton, two of Alton’s wealthy golf friends, a few cousins in from Denver.

And at a small round table in the far corner, tucked behind a thick stone pillar where you couldn’t even see the ocean, four names in a cramped hand: Camilo.

Cruz.

Sofia.

Kids.