Chapter 17 - His Own Voice
Monday morning, Arturo entered the courthouse in a wheelchair because of his ankle, not because anyone had taken away his right to decide. Elena pushed him to the courtroom. Ricardo walked beside them carrying no briefcase, only a folder of records.
Celeste sat across the aisle in a gray suit. She stared at Arturo but did not speak.
Her attorney argued that the older man's accounts were unreliable and that his children were pressuring him to refuse necessary care. Leah presented the hospital notes, Rosa's dated observations, and the recording of Arturo plainly rejecting the property documents. The judge asked questions rather than accepting either story on faith.
Then Arturo spoke.
"My name is Arturo Vega. I'm eighty-two. My birthday is February fourth. I know I forget things. I forgot my niece's wedding anniversary last year. I did not forget being locked in a bedroom. I did not forget asking for food."
Celeste looked down.
"I own that workshop," he continued. "I built those apartments with my wife. I can choose whether to sell them, and I choose no."
The courtroom was still.
"I loved my daughter-in-law," Arturo said. "I thought she loved me. She took that trust and made me afraid to ask for a glass of water."
The judge granted temporary protections while the disputes were investigated and declined to give Celeste control over Arturo on the evidence presented. Separate urgent steps to pause the property transaction were already being addressed.
Outside the courtroom, Ricardo finally exhaled.
May you like
Then Leah's phone rang. She listened, went rigid, and said, "That's impossible. The closing agent is trying to process the sale under a different filing number."
It was eight fifty-three.
