Sofía saw it.
So did Lucía.
That was when Lucía smiled.
It wasn’t a pleasant smile.
Sofía opened the first folder.
“Your Honor, my father has been accused of stealing approximately eight hundred fifty thousand pesos in school materials over a period when he had access to the campus.”
“That is correct,” the prosecutor replied.
“And the prosecution’s central evidence includes inventory records, delivery confirmations, and authorization forms bearing José Hernández’s employee identification?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Sofía turned toward the judge.
“Then I would like to begin with something very simple.”
She lifted one document.
“My father retired fourteen months before this document was signed.”
Silence.
The prosecutor blinked.
“What?”
Sofía walked toward him.
“Look at the date.”
He did.
His face tightened.
Principal Robles shifted in his chair.
Sofía continued.
“This purchase authorization allegedly approved by my father was electronically registered on September 14.”
She turned toward Don Chema.
“Papá, where were you on September 14?”
Chema looked confused.
“I don’t remember.”
Valeria spoke from behind him.
“I do.”
Every head turned toward her.
Valeria walked forward.
“I was getting married.”
Don Chema stared at her.
Then memory returned.
The little church.
The mariachi music.
The white flowers.
The way he had cried when he danced with her.
Valeria pulled out her phone.
“My father was in Puebla for my wedding from September 12 through September 17.”
Sofía placed hotel receipts, toll records, photographs, and bus tickets on the table.
“Meaning he could not have signed an inventory release in Ecatepec at 6:42 a.m. on September 14.”
The prosecutor stood.
“Electronic credentials can be used remotely.”
“Exactly.”
Sofía turned toward him.
“And who controlled those credentials after my father retired?”
Nobody answered.
She looked directly at Robles.
“The school administration.”
For the first time, Principal Robles spoke.
“This is ridiculous.”
His attorney grabbed his arm.
But Robles pulled away.
“That old man had access to everything for decades.”
Don Chema flinched at the words old man.
Sofía didn’t.
“Thank you,” she said.
Robles frowned.
“For what?”
“For confirming that your accusation depends on historical access rather than evidence that my father actually authorized these transactions.
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