Lulu barely waited for the gasps and murmurs to settle after Mariella's disgrace before clicking forward to the next slide.
"Chapter Two: Uncle Eduardo, Skeletons in the Study."
A loud throat-clearing sounded from the second row, where Uncle Eduardo sat stiffly in a black tweed blazer that smelled suspiciously like mothballs and denial. His wife, Rosalinda, reached over and squeezed his hand, her fake nails digging in just a little too tightly.
Lulu smiled gently, as if to ease the nervous expressions in the crowd. "Now, I know many of you probably think of Uncle Eduardo as the quiet one. The 'intellectual' of the family. The man with the private study full of leather-bound books, pipe smoke, and an espresso machine he won't let anyone touch."
A few polite nods followed. One woman murmured, "Compared to the two rowdy girls—one giving birth out of wedlock and now Mariella doing this—Eddie is definitely the golden child."
Lulu's expression shifted. Sweetness drained from her voice like sugar dissolving in water.
"Well," she said, "he wasn't exactly solving crossword puzzles in there."
She clicked the remote. The projector screen lit up with a photo of a wood-paneled room—Uncle Eduardo's infamous study. Except now, the bookshelves were open, revealing false backs and hidden compartments. One held a stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills. Another housed a row of neatly labeled VHS tapes, all dated between 2003 and 2009. A third had... inappropriate magazines and printed photographs. The subjects of said photos looked suspiciously under—or just barely of—age.
Gasps. Choked coughs. A muttered prayer. Someone said, "Oh, Dios mío."
Lulu paused, giving the silence room to breathe. "Now," she continued with almost surgical calm, "some of you may have noticed the cash. It wasn't because Mr. Eduardo was planning to film a rap video." Lulu paused after delivering what she thought was a clever joke to lighten the atmosphere—but it wasn't appreciated by the crowd.
A half-hearted laugh came from someone in the back. It died quickly.
"Ahem." Lulu adjusted the mic awkwardly at the failed joke. "The reason Eduardo had a stash of cash hidden behind copies of The Brothers Karamazov and A Brief History of Time wasn't because he was saving for retirement. It was hush money."
She clicked again. This time, the screen filled with screenshots: emails, bank transfers, and a PDF titled Final Agreement - CONFIDENTIAL.pdf.
Eduardo shifted visibly in his seat. His enraged wife looked like she was about to make this into a funeral for two.
"Let me walk you through this," Lulu said, her tone clinical now. "A former student from Eduardo's time teaching at St. Teresa's Catholic High School—an eighteen-year-old senior for the sake of anonymity will be called C—filed a complaint for what the school administration recorded as 'academic misconduct.' Amelia found this email chain while using Eduardo's printer to submit a college application."
She clicked again. A thread of emails appeared. The subject line: 'About our misunderstanding…'
"He told her to call it a 'misunderstanding,'" Lulu said coolly, "and paid her enough to make sure it stayed that way."
The room was silent. Utterly, crushingly silent.
Valentina had her hand pressed to her mouth. Someone in the back began to cry. Eduardo sat stone-faced, but sweat had begun to bead along his temples.
"However, the absolute hypocrisy of it all was the absolutely vile messages Amelia received from him while in her junior year, accompanying a senior boy to prom."
She clicked again.
"The screen flickered again—now showing a string of Eduardo's text messages to Amelia."
Lulu noticed how the ones who thought they'd dodged Amelia's wrath were now smirking, soaking up the drama like it wasn't real life.
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Eduardo: "You looked like a whore in that dress. Hope your mother's proud."
Eduardo: "Parading around like that in front of boys, it is obvious that you don't have a father figure."
Eduardo: "Don't come crying to us when he dumps you and you end up pregnant out of wedlock—just like your mother."
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"There's more," Lulu said. "Eduardo once offered Amelia money—on the condition she'd drop out and take a job cleaning his house part-time. He said, and I quote, 'College isn't for everyone, especially not girls like you.'"
Lulu paused.
"She did it anyway," she said. "No thanks to him."
"But don't worry," Lulu said after a moment, her tone snapping back into that too-sweet lilt. "We're just getting started."
She clicked forward.
"Next up: Cousin Carlos."
Eduardo looked ready to implode. His wife had turned pale. And the room—still reeling—braced for impact.