“Teresa… you told me Josefina had sold the tortilla shop to pay medical debts.”
My mother collapsed into the chair.
“I did what I had to do for my son.”
“No,” I said. “You did it for your favorite son.”
The hotel manager approached because some guests had started recording with their phones. Diego tried to take the microphone from me.
“Enough, Elena. You’re destroying us.”
I looked him straight in the eye.
“No, Diego. I’m only taking away what was never yours.”
And then I signaled to the lawyer to read the last page.
PART 3
Attorney Morales adjusted his glasses and read in a firm voice:
—By instruction of Miss Elena Vargas, the contribution of eight hundred thousand pesos intended for Mr. Diego Salazar’s dental office is hereby canceled. Any informal permission to use the annexed space next to the “La Josefina” tortilla shop, located in Cholula, is also revoked.
Diego reacted as if they had ripped the medal from his neck.
—You can’t do that! That place was already advertised!
—It was mine —I said—. Like the tortilla shop. Like the money. Like my right not to be humiliated.
My stepfather slammed the table.
—This is disrespectful. You are no one to come here and stain the family name.
—You stained the family name when you sold sacks of corn from my grandmother’s business to pay Raúl’s gambling debts.
The silence was brutal.
My mother looked at me with hatred.
—Are you going to make that up too?
The lawyer showed another document.
—Bank statements, altered invoices, and payments made to betting houses in Puebla between March and November of last year.
My aunt Carmen covered her mouth. A cousin started recording closer.
Raúl tried to act offended, but sweat was running down his forehead.
—That doesn’t prove that I…
—Your name is on the receipts —I said—. And the money came out of the tortilla shop’s account.
My mother stood up, staggering.
—I only wanted Diego to have a future.
—And for that, you took mine away.
For the first time, Diego approached her without arrogance.
—Mom, tell me it isn’t true.
She didn’t answer.
That was enough.
The invited rector, who had been sitting at the main table, stood up and said:
—Mr. Salazar, the university cannot get involved in family matters, but it will investigate whether there were false statements in your financial aid applications.
Diego turned pale.
—No, please…
—Financial aid? —I asked.
The attorney looked at me with sadness.
—Mr. Diego applied for scholarships, declaring that he had no family support or outside income. While he was receiving money from you.
The room exploded into murmurs.
My brother collapsed into the chair.
—I didn’t know what I was signing.
—Yes, you did —I said—. What you didn’t know was that I was going to stop carrying your lies.
My mother tried to take my hand.
