Chapter 13 - The San Alberto Tribunal
The iron gates of the Aranda mansion slid open silently, admitting the battered, modest sedan Rodrigo had borrowed from his foreman. Driving up the winding, manicured driveway lined with imported Italian cypresses felt like entering a beautifully constructed prison.
When the butler opened the massive oak doors, the scent of expensive white lilies and floor wax hit me instantly—a stark contrast to the wild mint and rosemary of San Pedro. My mother sat in the grand drawing room, draped in an ivory silk caftan, a diamond cocktail ring catching the light of the crystal chandelier. Beside her sat my brother, Alejandro, looking sharp, hollow, and profoundly irritated.
"You're late, Daniela," Victoria said, not looking up from her glass of dry sherry. "And I see you brought the... contractor."
"His name is Rodrigo, Mother," I said, walking to the center of the room, holding my head high. I had deliberately left Lucía with my parents; I would not allow her pure, sapphire eyes to be inspected like a piece of disputed property by these people.
Alejandro stood up, tossing a thick folder onto the marble coffee table. "Let’s skip the pleasantries. The rumors about the DNA test and the recessive genes from the Veracruz side have made the rounds within the Club Campestre board. The family’s stock in the real estate conglomerate dipped two points this morning because the investors hate domestic instability. We need this handled."
"Handled how, Alejandro?" Rodrigo asked, stepping forward, his presence filling the sterile room. He didn't look intimidated by the high ceilings or the priceless artwork. He looked like a man who knew exactly how much cement it took to hold a structure up, and how easily a rotten foundation could crumble.
"You will sign a co-parenting agreement," Victoria stated, finally looking at us with her cold, analytical gaze. "Lucía will be enrolled in the San Roberto academy under the Aranda name. We will establish a five-million-dollar trust for her education and maintenance. In return, Daniela will issue a public statement clarifying that the recent legal disputes were a misunderstanding brought on by postpartum anxiety. Rodrigo, your company will be awarded the subcontract for the new northern commercial development. You will be made whole, financially."
It was a classic Aranda play: buy the opposition, institutionalize the child, and rewrite the narrative to protect the dynasty.
I looked at the folder on the table, then at my mother—the woman who had tried to force me to abort my baby when she realized the child’s eyes might expose our family's hidden, working-class ancestry.
"No," I said clearly.
Victoria’s hand paused, her glass hovering inches from her lips. "What did you say?"
"I said no," I repeated, stepping closer to her. "You think everything can be audited and settled with a contract, Mother. But you forgot one thing. I handled the corporate compliance for the Aranda Group for six years. I know about the offshore accounts in Panama that Alejandro used to hide the losses from the failed golf course project. I know that the family estate isn't actually owned by the family trust—it’s leveraged against a secondary mortgage that you haven't declared to the board."
May you like
Alejandro’s face drained of color, his hand twitching toward his phone. "You wouldn't dare. That would destroy your own inheritance, Daniela."
"I burned my inheritance the day I walked out of the hospital with my daughter," I told him, my voice ringing with a terrifying, absolute freedom. "Rodrigo and I are leaving. If a single building permit for his construction company is delayed, or if a single municipal inspector sets foot in my father’s shop, those Panama routing numbers will be on the desk of the Federal Tax Administration by noon."
