Stop me if you've heard this one.
A guy walks into a bar. He's in Spain, a backpacker who's sort of knocking around Europe to celebrate his college graduation. He meets this alluring Spanish girl in the bar, they hit it off, get a room at a hotel, and bada bing, bada boom.
So they go their separate ways and the years pass. One day, through a series of wild circumstances so unlikely that I won't detail them here, this guy hears that this Spanish girl, who he's mostly forgotten, actually got pregnant via their encounter.
According to our unnamed sources, the girl was married at the time, kept the baby, and raised it as her husband's child. Pretty crazy, huh?
The erstwhile backpacker guy decides to try to get in touch with his twenty-something daughter. Unfortunately, he can't get time off work, so it isn't possible to get in touch directly, and anyway he can't speak Spanish.
So he contacts a local called Jorge in the Spanish town where his daughter lives and hires him to be his messenger and translator. (Why he goes about this in such a non-intuitive and roundabout way is anybody's guess.)
So Jorge goes to see Alejandra, the purported changeling daughter, and explains the following to her: a man of whose existence she had no inkling, and who lives far away and cannot meet her, is actually her father; no evidence of his existence or identity can be given to substantiate this claim; meanwhile, the man she thought was her father actually was not, an assertion which contradicts her life experience and all common sense as she sees it.
Given absolutely no positive evidence or any reason to believe in the truth of this tale, Alejandra rejects it. "I don't believe this man is my father," she says (in Spanish—this is a rough translation), "and in fact I don't even believe he exists at all. You're making this cockamamie story up."
The question now is, what's a fitting punishment for Alejandra?
Roasting over a fire?
Stabbing with pitchforks?
Buried up to the neck in feces?
Lying like a pig forever in a foul sty under a cold, endless rain of filth?
Eternal whirling about in a dark, stormy wind?
Suspension ankles-up in a lake of ice?
Fire, smoke, pain, tears, brimstone and ash?
We've got to figure out some way of giving Alejandra exactly what she deserves. What on earth else could her loving father possibly do?