You’re welcome to challenge it.

Forensics already didn’t.” The screen changed.

My husband, crossing my living room, and his own recorded voice filling the speakers — the bitter complaint that the crash he’d paid for hadn’t finished what it was meant to finish.

A collective gasp went through the guests.

Then Ximena, on the same screen: once they take her off the machines, we sell everything.

There was a bitter perfection in Emiliano reaching for the deepfake defense, and I doubt anyone in that room but me appreciated it fully.