He was seated upright, thin but clear-eyed and entirely present, and beside him sat his physician and two independent witnesses, each of whom stated their name and the date and attested that Harrison Vance was of sound mind.

Then my grandfather looked into the camera, and he spoke, and his voice, though weak, did not waver.

“My son believes that being sick made me stupid,” he said.

“It only made me quiet.” I heard, somewhere to my left, my father stop breathing.

Calmly, precisely, like the careful man he had always been, my grandfather laid it out — the forged deeds, the rental properties moved into the secret company, the looted investment account, the pressure applied to him when he was too sedated to resist.

He named what had been done and who had done it.