Ofelia felt the air completely leave her lungs, but she did not panic, and she did not cry. When you spend thirty-seven years living with an ice-cold man like Efraín, learning to survive on leftovers, your soul develops an iron perimeter.
“My daughter dials my phone only to demand signatures and favors, Arturo,” Ofelia said cleanly, her eyes locking onto his with a terrifying, razor-sharp clarity. “She believes she is the sole beneficiary of the Rivas estate. But three months ago, when I was cleaning out Efraín’s private desk, I discovered the unlisted cross-collateralization codes he used to fund your family’s real estate pavilion downtown. You didn’t show up at the cumbia salon by accident last night, did you?”
Arturo dropped his head into his hands, a pathetic, desperate whine escaping his throat. “Paulina… your daughter… she contacted my firm weeks ago. She said if I could structure an unlisted, bad-faith character compromise against your personal conduct, she could trigger the instability clause in the master will and freeze your remaining widow allocations before Monday’s probate session.”
