Chapter 20: Dated After the Funeral

The will was three pages, typed, with a signature at the bottom in shaky blue ink.

I read the date and said it aloud so the room could hear.

"Thursday, the fourth."

I looked up.

"My grandmother was buried on the Sunday before that. I have her funeral card in my wallet."

Renata's face did not change.

"A clerical error," her lawyer said quickly. "The date is typed. The signature is hers."

"The witness line has two names," I said. "Both are people who work for this company. One signs your invoices, Mama."

Nobody spoke.

"Abuela signed this four days after she was in the ground," I said.

The heavy man in the navy suit leaned forward and took the page out of my hand.

He read it twice.

His face went gray.

"Renata," he said slowly. "What is this?"

"A mistake."

"Then show me where she signed it."

"Let me show you something else instead," I said.

I turned toward the double doors and raised my voice.

"Bring him in!"

The doors opened.

Beto came through first, in his tight suit, pushing a wheelchair.

My father sat in it with a hospital blanket over his knees and a clean shirt buttoned wrong.

Behind him came two men I knew: one with a neck brace, and the other with a bandage across his nose.

A woman in a dark blazer followed them.

She was small, with short gray hair, and she carried a badge on her belt.

Renata stood up so fast that her chair fell.

"Ignacio," she said. "You're ill. Who brought you out of the clinic?"

"I did," Joaquin said from the doorway.

My father looked down the long table at his wife.

For a moment he did not say anything.

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