The prosecution's final witness was Miguel Reyes. He was helped to the stand, a frail figure dwarfed by the room. He didn't testify about forgeries or threats. He testified about his daughter.
He spoke of her kindness, her talent, the empty chair at their table for twenty-five years. He held up the reproduced sketchbook, his gnarled hands trembling.
"This is what they took from me," he said, his voice cracking with a grief that was still raw and powerful.
"This light." His testimony wasn't about legalities; it was about loss.
It was the human cost of their crimes, and it sucked the air out of the room. There was no cross-examination. The defense had no questions for his pain.