“So was I.”
Your mother flinched.
Good.
Let that one find bone.
Then Arturo made the mistake that ended everything.
He sneered and said, “After all this noise, you’re still the girl who came from nothing. Don’t forget who gave you a roof.”
You turned to him.
Slowly.
“You?”
“Yes,” he snapped. “Me.”
You reached into your purse again.
This time, you pulled out a final folder.
Thicker.
Clean.
Legal.
Your mother stared at it like it might bite.
“You didn’t give me a roof, Arturo,” you said. “My father did.”
He laughed. “What does that mean?”
“It means the construction company you built after marrying my mother used stolen foundation.”
The room went still.
You opened the folder.
“Five years ago, I bought a small commercial building in San Francisco. It was my first major investment. Last year, I bought three more. Then I bought a struggling construction supply chain in Southern California.”
Arturo’s face changed.
He knew before you said it.
You smiled without warmth.
