A juror’s pen stopped moving.
Grant’s attorney looked like he wanted to object but could not find a legal reason to stop a fact.
Rachel walked to the evidence table and lifted another folder.
“Commander Moore, I’m going to show you Government Exhibit 22.”
The screen changed.
A deed transfer.
Moore Coastal Property.
Our grandfather’s house.
The gray cedar home on the Oregon coast where I spent summers before my parents decided Grant’s comfort mattered more than my truth.
My grandfather had promised that house to both of us.
Not verbally.
In writing.
Half to Grant.
Half to me.
A place no one could sell unless both of us agreed.
Grant had sold my half without me knowing.
Rachel asked, “Do you recognize this property?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“My grandfather’s coastal house in Seaview County.”
“Were you originally listed as a beneficiary of that property?”
“Yes.”
“What happened to your share?”
“My signature was forged on a quitclaim deed transferring my interest to Grant Moore.”
Rachel clicked.
The forged quitclaim appeared.
My name.
My false signature.
A notary stamp.
A date from a week when I had been overseas.
Rachel asked, “Were you in Oregon on May 3, 2019?”
“No.”
“Where were you?”
“I was deployed.”
“Did you sign this deed?”
“No.”
“Did you authorize anyone to sign on your behalf?”
“No.”
“Did your parents know you contested this?”
My breath caught.
This was the part that still hurt more than the money.
“Yes.”
“What did they do?”
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