“And you identified the forged transfer orders.”
“I prepared the evidentiary timeline.”
A woman in the gallery quietly gasped.
Simon’s face drained of color.
Diane recovered first.
“I’m sure Rebecca is very good at her little job,” she said, “but this is a private family matter.”
Judge Avery’s expression hardened.
“Mrs.
Jameson, you will not interrupt this court.”
Diane’s mouth snapped shut.
The judge disclosed that he knew me only from unrelated professional testimony.
Neither side objected.
Then the hearing began.
Simon’s attorney, Mr.
Pritchard, painted me as unstable, greedy, and resentful.
He said I had manipulated Dad during his final illness.
He said I had removed documents from the family home.
He said the handwritten codicil naming me as controlling trustee was suspicious because it restricted Simon’s access to the estate.
The codicil did not disinherit Simon.
It placed his share into a managed trust because Dad had discovered almost six hundred thousand dollars in gambling debts, unpaid taxes, and personal loans Simon had hidden.
My mother would receive the house and a generous monthly allowance.
I would receive a smaller share and responsibility for protecting the investments.
Dad had not trusted Simon with unrestricted access.
He had trusted me.
That was what they could not forgive.
Diane testified first.
She dabbed her eyes before taking the oath.
“Rebecca changed after college,” she said.
“She became cold.
Secretive.
Obsessed with money.”
She claimed Dad had been confused.
She insisted his signature on the codicil looked wrong.
Then she produced an amended will supposedly signed six weeks before his death.
The amended will left nearly everything to Diane and Simon.
Simon stared at me as it was entered into evidence.
His expression said, We win.
Then he took the stand.
He said I had always been jealous of him.
He claimed Dad loved him more.
He said I had threatened to ruin the family if I did not receive control of the estate.
“Did Rebecca ever explain why she believed she deserved the money?” Mr.
Pritchard asked.
Simon gave me a sad smile.
“She said she was smarter than us.”
Mr.
Pritchard sat down.
Judge Avery turned to me.
“Ms.
Jameson, you may present your case.”
I carried my leather folder to the podium.
Diane whispered, “Here comes the little spreadsheet.”
I opened the folder.
“The defendants’ case depends on three claims,” I said.
“First, that my father lacked capacity when he signed the codicil.
