She looked down at me, waiting.
“Pick them up.”
Justin’s eyes flicked to the keys, then to my face. His mouth moved silently. Please.
Something inside me cooled completely.
Not anger. Not grief.
Clarity.
I stepped forward.
My heel came down beside the keys with a sharp crack, close enough to make them jump. I stepped over them without looking down and moved toward the desk.
Harold frowned. “Mrs. Moss, please stay where you are.”
I leaned forward, placing both hands flat on Andrew’s desk. The wood was cool under my palms.
“Lawyer Brennan,” I said quietly, “you just read a fraudulent document into the record.”
The room stilled.
“What did you say?” Harold asked, color draining from his face.
“Andrew Morrison was in a medically induced coma on November first,” I continued. “I have the hospital records. That makes this document invalid. And your participation makes it criminal.”
Mark scoffed. “Oh please.”
Samantha laughed sharply. “She’s grieving. Poor thing.”
I reached into my breast pocket and pulled out the cream-colored envelope sealed with red wax.
“This is the valid will,” I said. “Drafted under military authority. Notarized. Filed.”
Harold half stood. “That document has no standing.”
I raised it higher, letting the light catch the seal.
The insignia stamped into the wax was unmistakable.
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