The one with thinning hair and fuller face approached us. Up close I could discern faint lines in the corner of his eyes.

“Do you remember this?” the father asked.

Lizardo took the watch. “God, yes. I can’t believe it.”

“What?” I said.

“This watch,” Lizardo said. “Where did you find it?”

“A woman in Vinces had it but she didn’t know how her son had gotten a hold of it.”

“I thought we’d never see it again,” the father said.

“It was one of the first watches I ever completed on my own,” Lizardo said. “I was so proud of it.”

“That damned woman,” the old man—Bolivar?—said.

The younger son stared at each one of us, expectant, his fingers leaving traces of moisture on the glass counter.

Bolivar turned to me. “I believe it was in 1914 or 1915. This girl, what was her name?”

Lizardo shrugged.

“Well, let’s call her María,” the father said. “She did our cleaning for us for a couple of months.” He turned to the younger one. “Do you remember her, Carlos?”

Carlos nodded. “She had a beautiful voice.”

“Oh, yes,” the old man said. “She was always singing while she swept and mopped. This one”—he pointed at Carlos—“this one was enchanted by her voice. He thought there was no one more charming in Guayaquil.”

“Papá . . .”

“But I do agree that there was something special about her. Even though she was poor, she was very neat. Her clothes were always clean, her skirts always starched. She had what they call class, and she was smart. I don’t know how, but she knew how to read and write, and she started helping this simpleton with his additions and subtractions.” He pointed at his youngest son with his chin. “You should have never trusted her.”

“We all did, Padre,” Lizardo said in his brother’s defense.

Bolivar shook his head. “One day, she didn’t come to work. We thought she was sick and didn’t make much of it, although she was always efficient and timely. But then, that evening we noticed that there were some watches missing. This was one of them.”

Lizardo rubbed the case slowly.

“We called the police, of course. Well, I did. This one was in shock and swore on his mother’s grave that the girl would never rob us.” He stared at Carlos, sighing. “Men in love are idiots, you know?”

I pretended not to notice that the younger son was blushing.

“But she did,” the old man said. “A couple of days later, the police found her. She was part of a ring of thieves who sold stolen things. It turns out she worked for her stepfather.”

Her stepfather? My pulse raced. “What happened to her?”

“She went to jail for some time. Then, we lost track of her.”

“We recovered all the merchandise but this watch,” said Lizardo.