That last clause had Elena written all over it.
Hernán read it aloud to you in his office while sunlight slid across framed certificates and the old ceiling fan hummed like a witness. He wore his usual expression, half courtroom, half undertaker, the face of a man who had spent decades watching families smile at funerals and then devour each other in parking lots.
“If they try to force transfer, remove, confine, or materially pressure you off the property,” he said, tapping the page, “Rodrigo loses primary control eligibility for a minimum of ten years. Management passes to the board under the trust. He gets an allowance. Nothing more.”
You leaned back slowly.
Allowance.
It was almost too perfect.
Not exile. Not total disinheritance. Elena had not wanted vengeance. She had wanted education. There was something elegant in that. If Rodrigo chose to behave like a child, then child was exactly the legal category he would be allowed to inhabit.
“You think she knew?” you asked quietly.
Hernán looked up from the file.
“She was dying,” he said. “That tends to improve pattern recognition.”
