Nora placed the original folder on the evidence table.
The judge compared it with the deed filed under my name.
Then she lifted one page and looked directly at my father.
“Mr. Donnelly,” she said, “would you like to explain why the only witness to your daughter’s signature died two years ago?”
My father opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
Melanie shot to her feet.
“This is Claire’s fault. She promised us that house.”
I had never made that promise.
Nora did not argue. She placed a phone on the evidence table and pressed play.
Melanie’s recorded voice filled the courtroom:
“Dad still has the signature pages from your divorce. If you won’t sign the new deed, we’ll use those and fix the dates later.”
My mother’s face collapsed. My father gripped the table so hard his knuckles turned white.
Then he pointed at me.
