Silence.
My father whispered, “That’s impossible.”
“No,” I said. “Forgery is possible.”
Voss jumped to his feet.
“Objection—argumentative.”
“Sustained,” Judge Price said. Then she looked at the notary. “Ms. Crane, answer very carefully from this point forward.”
Crane’s hands began to shake.
My mother glared at me.
“You think one hospital record changes anything?”
“No. The video does.”
That was when they understood I had not arrived unprepared.
The courtroom deputy brought in a secured laptop.
I explained that while deployed in the Gulf of Aden, I had been designated Grandpa’s medical power of attorney. The hospital had arranged a remote capacity assessment because my grandfather suspected “someone was pushing papers at him.”
The recording was timestamped March 19.
Grandpa appeared weak, oxygen tubing beneath his nose, but his voice was unmistakable.
“If my son brings me another deed, don’t let me sign it,” he said. “He wants the land. He keeps telling me Caroline is gone for good because she chose the Navy.”
