You nodded back.
That was when Verónica first realized you had a plan.
Now, in the notary’s office, that plan is blooming like poison ivy.
Ximena’s hands begin to shake.
She picks up the summary sheet, scans it again, faster this time, as though speed might create mercy. Her eyes move over creditor names, account numbers, legal references, balances. She doesn’t understand half of it. You can tell. Most of the women Esteban liked understood men, mirrors, and menus. Paperwork bored him in them. He preferred his fantasy unburdened by literacy in the wrong fields.
“This says the Santa Fe apartment secures part of the Querétaro loan,” she says.
“Yes,” Beltrán replies.
“And Valle de Bravo too?”
“Indirectly through a lien package and cross-default structure.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” Verónica says sweetly from the back, “that if one thing sinks, the others hold hands and drown together.”
