“Whose name is it in?”
“Both. But I paid the down payment with my father’s inheritance.”
Sandra looked up. “Do you have the receipts?”
I went to the closet and pulled out a blue folder. That folder was my secret pride. Bruno always said I didn’t know how to manage money. But I had kept every receipt. Every transfer. Every property tax payment. Every monthly payment I made when he was “between projects” for six months and I sold desserts and did door-to-door manicures to keep the house.
Sandra reviewed it all. Then she smiled. Not a happy smile. The smile of a lawyer who smells blood.
“Your husband is stupider than he thinks.”
“Why?”
“Because he tried to move your assets without checking that you have half the Public Registry’s archives in your closet.”
I sat down. Suddenly my legs were shaking. “Sandra, he wants to move that woman in here.”
“He’s not moving anyone in.”
“His mother knows, too.”
