this?”
Maribel froze.
Before she could answer, her cell phone vibrated on the table.
Martín managed to read the message.
“Doña Maribel, we’ll sign tomorrow. Bring the final payment. —Ernesto.”
Martín’s face hardened.
“Ernesto?” he asked, his voice cracking with anger. “Who the hell is Ernesto?”
Maribel paled.
“Martín, wait…”
But he had already grabbed his cell phone.
“Five years taking my money to give it to some other bastard!”
Maribel opened a drawer, took out a thick yellow envelope, and held it in front of him, her hands trembling.
