Valeria was thirty-four.
Lucía was thirty-two.
And judging by the expression on Principal Robles’s face, at least one of them was exactly the person he had been praying would never enter that courtroom.
“Your Honor,” Sofía said, slightly out of breath, “please don’t issue a ruling yet.”
The judge lowered his gavel.
The prosecutor stood immediately.
“Your Honor, this proceeding cannot simply be interrupted—”
“I know exactly how proceedings work.”
Sofía walked down the center aisle.
Her heels struck the floor with a confidence that made people move aside.
Don Chema stared at her.
She wore a dark tailored suit and carried a thick leather case beneath one arm.
He had seen her dressed professionally before, of course. He kept photographs of all three daughters beside his bed.
