Even as she let the door swing shut behind her, she reminded herself that none of this was Romero’s fault. Romero, on the other side of the store and with his back to her, did not turn away from his customer to see who had entered. From Esperanza’s position, she could just make out the Campeche stele artifact Romero was showing the man, and she guessed the price of the piece hovered in the level most people would call obscene. Romero, though, seldom dealt with anyone unprepared to drop that sort of money. And despite the anger that had brought Esperanza there, she kept close to the door until he completed the transaction. Her brother—the proprietor of the high-end antiquities shop situated off Bolivar Avenue in the Caracas business district—did just that, with Esperanza picking up only bits and pieces of the conversation but getting the impression the customer was thrilled with the stele and would likely have paid more than what Romero had asked for it. Not long after the handshake and necessary delivery arrangements, the well-dressed gray-haired man was gone, aiming a conspirator’s smile at Esperanza as he left.
