PART5

“That’s understandable. I have the original correspondence, handwriting samples, and a sworn statement from the investigator who recovered them. I am prepared to have them independently examined.”

Judge Wynn reviewed the documents.

“Objection noted. The court will consider admissibility and authenticity before relying on these materials.”

I continued.

“There’s one more matter, Your Honor.”

My father leaned toward his attorney.

I saw him whisper something.

The attorney shook his head.

I handed the bailiff a separate financial report.

“During the investigation, we discovered that the plaintiffs have outstanding judgments and substantial unpaid debts. They are currently facing foreclosure proceedings on their residence.”

My mother’s head snapped up.

“That has nothing to do with this!”

I looked at her.

“Then perhaps you can explain why your attorney requested that the estate be placed under an emergency restriction before the validity of your claim was established.”

Their attorney stood.

“Your Honor, this is improper.”

Judge Wynn looked at him.

“Counsel, sit down. I will decide what is relevant.”

I opened the report.

“Three weeks before filing this lawsuit, my parents attempted to contact the estate administrator. They requested an immediate distribution of funds, despite having no legal authority over the estate. When that request was denied, they filed this lawsuit.”

My father shook his head.

“We were trying to protect our family!”

I turned toward him.

“Which family?”

He stared at me.

“The one you abandoned twenty-two years ago?”

For a moment, nobody moved.

Then Judge Wynn asked the question I had been waiting to hear.

“Mr. Marsh, are you alleging that the plaintiffs brought this action in bad faith and for the purpose of obtaining funds to satisfy their personal debts?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Do you have evidence supporting that allegation?”

I placed another document on the table.

“Yes.”

It was a copy of a recorded telephone conversation between my father and a financial adviser.

The recording had been legally obtained by the adviser and voluntarily provided to my investigator.

I had listened to it three times.

Each time, I felt a little less like the boy waiting at the bus station.

And a little more like the man Elijah had raised me to become.

The judge listened to the recording through the courtroom system.

My father’s voice filled the room.

“We don’t need the whole three million. If we can get even half, we can settle everything.”

The financial adviser asked:

“And if Matthew refuses?”

My father’s response was immediate.

“Then we’ll make him look unstable. We have enough history to convince people he was a problem child.”

My mother could be heard in the background.

“Arthur, don’t say that on the phone.”

Then my father’s voice again.

“He won’t have a choice. He’s still our son.”

The recording ended.

Nobody spoke.

My father looked at the floor.

My mother covered her face.

And Wyatt slowly leaned back in his chair as though the air had been knocked out of him.

Judge Wynn removed her glasses.

“Mr. Marsh, is this recording part of the evidence you intend to submit?”

“Yes, Your Honor, subject to the court’s review of its authenticity and admissibility.”

She nodded.

“Very well. We will take this under advisement.”

I sat down.

For the first time that morning, I felt something approaching relief.

But then my parents’ attorney stood again.

“Your Honor, before the court makes any decision, we have a matter of our own to raise.”

I looked up.

He approached the bench with a thick folder.

“My clients have recently discovered information concerning the late Mr. Elijah Marsh that they believe directly affects the validity of the inheritance.”

My stomach tightened.

“What information?” the judge asked.

The attorney opened the folder.

“Mr. Elijah Marsh had a medical condition during the final months of his life. We have reason to believe that he may not have been mentally competent when he executed his final will.”

I stared at him.

That was impossible.

Elijah had been sharp until the end.

He remembered every chess opening. He could calculate investment returns in his head. He corrected my grammar in birthday cards and still beat me at chess when he was eighty.

The attorney continued.

“We believe the will may have been the result of undue influence exerted by the defendant, who stood to receive the entirety of the estate.”

My mother lowered her tissue.

And I understood.

They weren’t finished.

They were trying to destroy Elijah’s final decision because they couldn’t find a legal way to take the money from me.

I stood.

“Your Honor, I anticipated this allegation.”

I reached into my briefcase and removed one final folder.

“But before we discuss Mr. Marsh’s medical condition, I would like the court to review the independent psychiatric evaluation completed six months before his death, the two witness affidavits, and the video recording of the will execution.”

Their attorney blinked.

I continued.

“Elijah knew exactly what he was doing. He had independent legal counsel. He had two witnesses. And he explained his decision in his own words.”

Judge Wynn looked at the folder.

“Is there a recording?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

“Have you provided a copy to opposing counsel?”

“I have.”

The judge nodded.

“Then I will review it.”

My mother suddenly leaned toward her attorney and whispered something urgently.

He shook his head.

But she wasn’t finished.

She stood.

“Your Honor, there’s something else you should know.”

The judge looked at her.

“Mrs. Marsh, you need to remain seated unless I give you permission to speak.”

My mother ignored the warning.

“Elijah Marsh wasn’t the innocent man Matthew makes him out to be!”

My heart stopped.

She looked directly at me.

“He had secrets too.”

I felt my stomach tighten.

“What secrets?” I asked.

Her eyes filled with tears.

“He knew about the insurance money. He knew what we did. And he threatened us.”

The courtroom erupted in whispers.

Judge Wynn struck her gavel.

“Order!”

I stared at my mother.

“What are you talking about?”

She looked at me with an expression I couldn’t understand.

Fear.

Anger.

And something that almost resembled satisfaction.

“Elijah didn’t just find you by accident, Matthew.”

My mouth went dry.

She continued.

“He knew who you were. He knew who your parents were. And he had been watching our family long before you ever met him.”

I looked toward the judge.

Then toward my father’s table.

My father had gone completely pale.

Because he knew something.

Something he hadn’t expected her to say.

Judge Wynn ordered everyone to remain seated.

“Mr. Marsh,” she said carefully, “do you have any knowledge of what Mrs. Marsh is referring to?”

I shook my head.

“No, Your Honor.”

My mother slowly reached into her handbag.

She removed a folded piece of paper.

“I have proof.”

My father’s attorney immediately grabbed her arm.

“Evelyn, don’t.”

But she pulled away.

“It’s time he knows the truth.”

She placed the paper on the table.

It was an old photograph.

And when the bailiff carried it toward the judge, I saw the image clearly.

It showed my eight-year-old self standing outside the Greyhound station.

Beside me was Elijah.

But that wasn’t what made my blood run cold.

It was the date written on the back.

February 14, 1994.

The exact day my parents abandoned me.

And underneath the date were six handwritten words:

“He was supposed to take him.”

I looked at my mother.

Then at my father.

And for the first time that morning, I wasn’t certain I understood the story of my own life.

Because if Elijah had been waiting for me that night…

Who had he really been waiting to save me from?

And why had my parents spent twenty-two years pretending they had never known him?

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART6…