Chapter 8 - The Trial of Las Lomas
Three months later.
The Federal Criminal Court of Mexico City was packed to capacity for the trial that the media had dubbed "The Vipers of Las Lomas."
Doña Esther and Marcela sat at the defense table wearing prison-issued beige uniforms, their hair unstyled, their aristocratic arrogance completely stripped away. Beside them sat a team of four high-priced defense attorneys trying desperately to minimize the overwhelming evidence.
On the witness stand sat Valeria.
She wore a simple, elegant navy blue dress that showed her now eight-month pregnant silhouette. Her skin was clear, her bruises healed, her eyes shining with quiet, unyielding dignity.
Beside the prosecutor’s table sat Alejandro, holding a copy of his wife’s medical file, his eyes locked on the defense table like a hawk.
The defense attorney stood up to cross-examine Valeria.
"Mrs. Aranda," the attorney began, trying for an intimidating tone. "You claim my clients forced sedatives upon you. But isn't it true that you had a history of anxiety prescriptions prior to your marriage?"
Valeria looked directly at the jury, her voice calm, clear, and steady.
"I had an occasional prescription for mild insomnia after my father passed away, sir," Valeria answered smoothly. "I did not have a prescription for Scopolamine—a chemical used to render victims unconscious. That chemical was purchased by Marcela Aranda through a secondary pharmaceutical distributor in Puebla, paid for using company credit cards."
The lead juror nodded, taking notes.
The defense attorney cleared his throat nervously, turning to his next point. "And the financial ledger? You claim Doña Esther embezzled funds. But you are an art conservator, not a certified public accountant. How can the court trust your evaluation of twenty-year-old financial records?"
Before Valeria could answer, Prosecutor Santiago Ruiz stood up.
"Objection, Your Honor. The prosecution has already submitted the forensic audit conducted by the Federal Banking Commission, which fully corroborates Mrs. Aranda’s findings."
"Sustained," the judge ruled firmly. "Move on, counselor."
The trial lasted four intense days.
On the final afternoon, the jury returned after less than two hours of deliberation.
"On the counts of aggravated domestic assault, illegal restraint, and criminal poisoning," the foreperson read loudly, "we find the defendant, Marcela Aranda... Guilty."
Marcela buried her face in her hands, sobbing loudly.
"On the counts of corporate fraud, grand larceny, conspiracy, and subornation of perjury... we find the defendant, Esther Aranda... Guilty on all counts."
Doña Esther stared blankly ahead, her hands trembling as the judge slammed his heavy wooden gavel onto the bench.
"Esther Aranda, you are sentenced to twenty-two years in federal prison without the possibility of early parole," the judge declared sternly. "Marcela Aranda, you are sentenced to fifteen years. Court is adjourned."
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As the guards led the two crying women away in handcuffs, Doña Esther looked toward Alejandro one last time, her eyes pleading for mercy.
Alejandro did not move. He did not blink. He simply took Valeria’s hand, lifted it to his lips, and kissed her knuckles as they turned their backs on the past forever.
