He had heard it too.
He did not smile.
He only wrote something on his legal pad.
Back inside, Colette took the stand.
She began carefully.
She loved me.
She was worried about me.
She had watched grief change me.
She wanted only to protect our mother’s legacy.
Harold let her tell the story.
Then he asked about the funeral.
“Did you ask Adeline whether Margaret said anything at the end?”
Colette blinked.
“Yes.”
“And when she answered that Margaret had said her name, did you then clarify that you were asking about paperwork?”
Colette’s mouth opened.
I had never told Harold that detail until our preparation meeting.
Hearing it spoken in court made it sound colder than it had felt in the church basement.
“I was grieving,” Colette said.
“I didn’t ask why.
I asked whether you said it.”
“Yes.”
Harold moved on.
At the will reading, had she objected to the equal division of the house?
No.
The insurance?
No.
Retirement account?
No.
When had she first claimed I was incompetent?
Colette stared at the floor.
After learning I was the sole beneficiary of the trust.
Harold did not need to dramatize it.
The chronology did that for him.
Before the $3.6 million trust was announced, I was her grieving younger sister.
Afterward, I was suddenly a danger to myself.
Their attorney tried to repair the damage by asking Colette to describe my behavior while caring for Mom.
She said I had become controlling about medication schedules.
Harold reminded the court that Mom was receiving chemotherapy and prescription pain medication that had to be tracked carefully.
She said I rarely left the house.
I had been caring for a terminally ill woman.
She said I became upset when relatives changed plans without telling me.
Because Mom’s appointments depended on transportation.
Every accusation sounded alarming until somebody placed it back into the life where it had happened.
By late afternoon, Preston no longer looked devastated.
He looked angry.
That was more revealing.
When Harold asked whether he expected Colette to benefit if a conservator or financial guardian gained authority over my assets, Preston snapped.
“This is insulting.”
Judge Fitzwilliam spoke before Harold could.
“Doctor, answer the question.”
Preston’s nostrils flared.
“I expected my wife’s family assets to be handled responsibly.”
“My assets,” I said before I could stop myself.
Every head turned.
Harold touched my sleeve.
