“They were quietly transferred to her by your father, Richard Vale, three months before his passing.

The transfer was properly registered. Properly witnessed. And ironclad.”

The church seemed to inhale as one, pulling all the oxygen from the room.

Evan’s jaw tightened so fiercely I thought I might hear his teeth splinter.

He took a threatening step toward the altar.

“That old man was completely senile at the end. He didn’t know what he was signing. We’ll have this thrown out by tomorrow morning.”

“No,” I said.