Chapter 12
Chapter 12: The Scales of Justice
Six months later, the Monterrey courthouse was a circus of media vans and heavily armed guards.
The trial had been swift. The evidence I had gathered during my three years of invisible servitude—the audio recordings, the hidden financial ledgers, and the forensic proof of Elena's blood in their private study—was an insurmountable mountain. Their expensive lawyers tried every dirty trick in the book, attempting to paint me as a disgruntled, mentally unstable employee. But the truth, backed by irrefutable data, was a force they could no longer buy off.
I sat in the witness stand, wearing a simple, clean suit that I had bought with my honest savings.
Across the room sat Mauricio, Bernardo, and Victoria. They were seated behind the defense table, wearing standard prison jumpsuits. The contrast to their former lives was staggering. Mauricio’s arrogant smirk was completely gone, replaced by the hollow stare of a broken man.
When the judge asked me to recount the night they disposed of Elena's body to cover up Mauricio's reckless, fatal hit-and-run, I didn't look at the jury. I looked directly into Victoria De la Vega’s eyes.
"They didn't see a woman," I said, my voice echoing clearly through the silent courtroom. "They saw an inconvenience. They thought because she cleaned floors and lived under a tin roof, her blood had no price. They were wrong."
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Victoria looked away first.
When the judge read the verdict—Guilty on all counts, without the possibility of parole—a collective gasp filled the gallery. I simply stood up, buttoned my jacket, and walked out of the courtroom. The scales were finally balanced.
