But Valentina pressed the phone against her chest.
And when the judge ordered the video to be played, no one in that room was prepared for what they were about to see.
Valentina’s phone was connected to a small screen before the judge. The entire courtroom went still.
Mariana remained standing, rigid, her eyes fixed on the girl.
“Your Honor,” the prosecutor said uneasily, “this has not been entered as admissible evidence.”
Emilia’s defense attorney rose immediately.
“A minor has just testified that she witnessed a crime. If this recording exists, disregarding it would be a disgrace to this court.”
The judge looked down at Valentina.
“Did you record this video?”
The girl nodded.
“My dad had given me that phone to play with. I was hiding because Mariana had punished me.”
The video began.
The image was dark and unsteady, as though the phone had been propped against something. Only a fragment of Alejandro’s study was visible: the desk, a lamp, a glass of tequila.
Then Mariana appeared.
She was not wearing black, and her face held none of the grieving widow’s softness. She wore a white silk robe, and her expression was cold and set.
“Sign,” a voice said.
Alejandro came into frame — seated, exhausted, one hand pressed to his chest.
“I’m not going to sign anything. I’m going to file for divorce tomorrow.”
A murmur passed through the courtroom.
Mariana smiled — but there was nothing warm in it.
“And what are you going to say? That your wife is mean to your daughter? Nobody’s going to believe you. Everyone loves me, Alejandro. The press loves me. Your partners love me.”
“Valentina told me.”
Mariana’s tone shifted.
“That girl doesn’t know what she’s saying.”
On screen, Alejandro attempted to stand, then staggered.
“What did you give me?”
The recording cut off.
The room broke into noise.
Emilia wept without sound. For six months she had said that Alejandro had not died the way Mariana claimed, but no one had wanted to hear a nanny from Iztapalapa over a wealthy widow with expensive attorneys.
The judge called for quiet.
“Are there more files?”
Valentina swallowed.
“Yes… but Mariana took my phone that night. I only got it back yesterday.”
“How did you get out of the house?” the judge asked.
Valentina looked down.
“They locked me in.”
The words landed like something thrown hard against the floor.
Emilia raised her head.
“What?”
Valentina began to tremble.
