He did not look at the broken porcelain rabbit or the blood on Rosa’s apron.

He held the tablet out toward my father.

“The camera in the hallway,” Ramiro said. “The one near the safe room.”

Patricia’s face went completely pale for a fraction of a second.

Then she quickly smoothed her expression and let out a high, artificial laugh.

“Oh, please,” Patricia said, waving her hand. “Are we really going to look at cameras while a thief stands in our kitchen?”

She turned around and faced Rosa.

Rosa stood perfectly still near the sink, holding a damp paper towel against her bleeding finger.

“You need to leave this house right now, Rosa,” Patricia said.

Her voice rose, filling the high-ceilinged kitchen.

“I want you off this estate immediately,” Patricia said.

“Patricia, wait,” my father said, raising a hand.

“No, Emiliano, I will not wait,” Patricia said, turning to him with tears in her eyes. “She took my mother’s bracelet.”

She pointed at Rosa, her hand shaking with fake rage.

“She took the only thing I have left of my mother,” Patricia cried.