“Yes,” Laurent said, pointing his finger at me, “and how did you find out about my father-in-law’s fortune?”

At that moment, Julia entered the room with a tray filled with espresso cups. I thought of the word “scoundrel” and suddenly I remembered what it was that I needed to recall, what my unconscious mind had been trying to tell me since I woke up.

As my siblings and my father’s lawyer stared at me, I removed my spectacles and set them on the coffee table, then I pulled off my beard and mustache, relieved that this would be the last time I would ever have to wear that dreadful thing.

Their faces transformed from confusion to shock.

As I removed my jacket, so relieved as if I’d been unlocking a pair of handcuffs from my wrists, I spoke with my regular voice. “I’m María Purificación.”

I raised my chin. I was not ashamed of what I’d done, especially now that I’d figured everything out.

Catalina covered her mouth.

“What? Purificación?” Angélica looked at me as if a sculpture had come to life. “Why would you do this? Why would you deceive us?”

“Because I needed to know which one of you had sent Franco to the ship to kill me; because I feared for my life and didn’t trust any of you after Franco murdered my husband.”

All of them spoke at once. In their faces, I read incredulity, confusion, and in Catalina’s case, an intense pain.

Finally, Angélica’s voice rose above the rest. “You’re mistaken. Nobody here would do such a thing!”

I glanced at each one of them until my eyes landed on the guilty one.

“Yes, one of you did.” I lifted my chin. “Since we’re all here confessing, why don’t you tell them the truth, Elisa?”

Still holding the tray, Julia looked directly at me, her eyes filled with tears of what I could only read as rage.

My sisters turned to the maid, incredulous.

“Elisa?” Catalina said.

Julia, or Elisa, set the tray on the sideboard. For a moment, I thought she was going to flee, but she simply stood there, staring at her hands, which were shaking even more than mine.

“I don’t know what this . . . this person is talking about.”

“Don’t deny it,” I said. “I saw the puppets in your room. Your stepfather was a puppeteer. I read about it in one of the letters you sent to Armand.”

That morning, when I’d been talking to Martin, taking inventory of the things in Julia’s room, I’d seen the puppets of Red Riding Hood and the Wolf sitting on one of the shelves, buried between other dolls and ornaments, but I hadn’t thought anything of it. Not at the time, anyway.