He pointed a finger at me. “We ask the court to rectify this gross injustice. To restore the legacy to the rightful heirs.”
I sat stone-faced. I didn’t object. I didn’t shake my head. I let him paint his picture.
“Ms. Vance?” the Judge asked. “Your opening?”
I stood up. “The defense asserts that the will is valid, Your Honor. The burden of proof is on the plaintiff. I will wait to see their evidence.”
Sterling smirked. He thought I didn’t know how to make an opening statement. He didn’t realize I was saving my ammunition.
The plaintiffs’ case was a masterclass in fabrication.
My mother took the stand first. She wept on cue. She told stories about how close she was with Nana Rose—stories I knew were lies, as I had been the one holding Nana’s hand while she cried on holidays because her son hadn’t called.
