Rebeca hissed, “You have no right.”
He looked at her with tired dignity.
“I own this estate, Rebeca. I have every right.”
Gasps moved through the crowd.
Camila turned sharply toward Rodrigo. “Your mother said the estate was yours.”
Rodrigo did not answer.
Marta opened the leather folder and removed documents.
“These are certified birth certificates,” she said. “These are DNA results acknowledged by the court. These are records of support orders and visitation agreements. Emilia Isabel Salvatierra Montes, Mateo Ernesto Salvatierra Montes, and Daniel Rodrigo Salvatierra Montes are the legally recognized children of Rodrigo Salvatierra and Isabel Montes.”
No one breathed.
Marta continued. “Any family document stating Mr. Salvatierra has no recognized descendants is false.”
Don Ernesto then looked at Rodrigo.
“I did not bring them to shame you. You have already done that. I brought them because your mother attempted to erase them from the family record today in the same way she erased me from your life and Isabel from your house.”
Rodrigo’s eyes filled, but tears had no authority anymore.
Rebeca recovered enough to speak.
“This is grotesque. She planned this. She always wanted revenge.”
Isabel finally looked at her.
For five years, she had imagined this woman older, smaller, sorry. But Rebeca stood exactly as before: elegant, poisonous, convinced that shame belonged only to other people.
“No,” Isabel said. “If I wanted revenge, I would have come when they were born. I would have brought cameras to the DNA hearing. I would have told every woman at every lunch what you said to me while I was pregnant. I stayed quiet because my children deserved peace. But peace is not the same as letting you write them out of their own name.”
Rebeca’s face twisted.
“You were barren for eleven years.”
Rodrigo flinched. Camila stared. Guests looked away.
Isabel stepped forward, voice steady.
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