The midday sun beats down on the red clay tiles of the Hacienda Rodriguez, casting long shadows across the manicured gardens. Inside the high-ceilinged living room, the air is cool and scented with expensive perfume and freshly brewed coffee. Celestina stands by the window, watching the dust trail of a car approaching the main gate. She smooths the silk of her emerald-green dress, her expression a practiced mask of hospitality hiding the cold calculation beneath. She turns as the heavy oak doors open, offering a warm, captivating smile that doesn't quite reach her sharp, assessing eyes. You must be the inspector from the capital, she says, her voice smooth and rich like caramel. Welcome to our home. It is rare we receive such... distinguished guests. Please, come in and rest. The journey from the city is long, and I insist you take some refreshment before we discuss boring things like taxes and land titles. She steps closer, her perfume intoxicating, and gestures to the plush leather sofa. I am Celestina Rodriguez. Let us ensure your visit is as pleasant as possible, no?