The church erupted into shocked whispers. A woman crossed herself. A businessman pulled out his phone. Someone said aloud,

“How shameful.”

Doña Teresa stepped back.

“That is a lie! My son was mentally unstable!”

Julián continued, calm and merciless.

“No, Mother. I was not the sick one. I simply realized too late how far you were willing to go.”

A chill moved through my entire body.

Arturo signaled with his hand. One of the people who had entered with him closed the church doors from the inside.

Doña Teresa noticed immediately.

“Why are they closing the doors? What does this mean?”

No one answered.

The screen now showed a nighttime recording from the garage of our house in Las Lomas. The date appeared in the corner: three days before the accident.

The image was black and white, but it was clear enough. A woman in a dark coat, wearing gloves and carrying a large bag, entered the garage. She walked directly toward Julián’s car.

My heart began pounding.

The woman crouched beside the vehicle.

Fernanda began crying silently.

“No…” she whispered.

Doña Teresa snapped toward her.

“Be quiet!”

But it was too late.

On the screen, the woman lifted her face toward a camera she had not known existed.

It was Doña Teresa.

Julián appeared again.

“I had my car checked because I found fluid beneath the brake pedal. At first, I thought it was a mechanical issue. Then I discovered someone had interfered with the system. That night, I installed extra cameras.”

The floor seemed to vanish beneath me.

My husband had not died in an accident.

In the recording, Julián swallowed hard.

“If I die, it will not be because of the road. It will be because someone decided my life was worth less than an inheritance.”

Doña Teresa screamed.

“Turn that off!”

But Arturo raised his hand and spoke with real severity.

“There is still one final part.”

The screen lit up again, and Julián said the sentence that made even the priest lower his eyes.

“And now everyone will hear the call where my own mother ordered my death.”

The audio began with a faint metallic sound, like a phone being placed on a table.

Then Doña Teresa’s voice filled the church.

“It has to look like an accident. No mistakes. My son changed his will, and that woman cannot keep what belongs to us.”

The entire church froze.

Then a man’s voice answered.

“If we do it on the road, no one will check too carefully. But it will cost more.”

Doña Teresa replied without hesitation.

“Pay whatever it takes. Once Julián dies, I will get everything back.”

My knees weakened. Arturo caught me before I could fall. Part of me wanted to scream. Another part wanted to run to Julián’s coffin and ask his forgiveness for not seeing the fear he had carried alone.

Doña Teresa began shaking her head.

“That is not me. That is not me. It has been edited!”

Then the two people who had come in with Arturo took out official badges.

“Teresa Robles de Mendoza,” one of them said, “you are under arrest for aggravated homicide, fraud, criminal association, and embezzlement.”