Isabella Cortez sat in the first row dressed in black, as though she were the one wronged. She cried gracefully, pressing a silk handkerchief to the corners of her eyes. At her side, one of the country’s most celebrated attorneys nodded with calm assurance.
“That necklace was my mother’s,” Isabella said when invited to speak. “It carries immeasurable sentimental value. And the woman I trusted in my home stole it.”
Across the room, Teresa finally managed to speak. “I didn’t steal anything,” she said, her voice trembling but firm. “I’m innocent.”
Judge Harrison struck his gavel. “Silence. The evidence is clear. The necklace was discovered among your belongings.”
“Because someone put it there.”
A pause.
“Are you accusing Mrs. Cortez of lying?”
Teresa looked straight at Isabella. For a fraction of a second, the polished tears stopped. In her eyes, Teresa saw what had always lingered beneath the elegance—cold resentment.
“Yes,” Teresa answered. “She’s lying.”
A faint smile touched the judge’s lips. “Let the record show the defendant is slandering the victim. That will not help her case.”