Chapter 8 - The Desk
My father had kept that desk in his study for twenty years.
After he died, I couldn't bear to sell it, so I stored it in the basement of the Del Valle building.
Mauricio knew that.
"Where did he take it?" I asked.
The property manager handed me a copy of the loading receipt.
A resale warehouse in Iztacalco.
By the time we got there, the desk had already been sold to a pawn and antique dealer.
The owner remembered Mauricio.
"He was in a hurry," the man said. "Wanted cash."
"Did he sell anything else?"
The man checked his computer.
Then he turned the screen toward me.
My father's watch.
My throat tightened.
I had seen the receipt in Ofelia's box, but seeing the photograph hurt differently.
That watch was the last gift my father had given Mauricio.
"Where is it?"
"Sold yesterday."
"To whom?"
"I can't give customer information without a police request."
Elena handled that part.
The desk was still in the back room, waiting for pickup.
I bought it back.
At Camila's house, I ran my fingers along the scratches my father had made with his wedding ring while he worked.
Then I noticed one drawer would not close.
We removed it.
Behind it was a thin false panel.
Inside sat an envelope with my name written in my father's handwriting.
LAURA - IF YOU EVER HAVE REASON TO DOUBT MAURICIO, READ THIS ALONE.
I stopped breathing.
May you like
My father had died four years earlier.
Whatever was inside that envelope meant he had seen something long before I did.
