Not elegantly. Your voice still breaks. Carmen fills in what she saw. Teresa brings the bottles. Dr. Salazar gives the medical explanation. By the end of the hour the picture is clear enough to make even Vega go quiet.
Mauricio was not simply preparing a guardianship.
He was constructing your incompetence.
The hearing scheduled for Friday was supposed to be easy: a silent uncle in a wheelchair, altered records, a compliant neurologist, and a tearful nephew begging to protect the estate. Then transfer you to some “specialized long-term care facility” out of the city where access could be controlled and signatures moved faster.
An exile, dressed in expensive compassion.
“He thinks I’m not going,” you say.
Vega’s mouth twitches. “Good,” he says. “Let’s keep it that way.”
So the trap begins.