While I slept, my husband emptied 500,000 pesos from my account. He went wandering across the city, shopping as though my life were his personal ATM.

A voice called from the other side:

—Federal Police. Mr. Torres, please open up.

Hector looked at me first.
Then at the door.
As if he had two seconds to choose which mask to wear.

He picked indignation.
He always did when cornered.

“What have you done?” he asked, voice low, jaw clenched.

“Open your eyes,” I replied.

The doorbell rang again.
He smoothed his jacket, instinctively touched the new watch on his wrist, and opened the door.

On the landing stood two uniformed officers…
and an inspector in plainclothes, Raúl Medina, holding his accreditation with an almost bureaucratic calm.