My Son Struck Me Thirty Times at His Birthday Dinner. The Next Morning, I Sold the Mansion He Thought He Owned.

Rain ran down the windows.

Somewhere in the walls, the old house ticked and settled, the way it did when Raymond used to walk through it at night.

Trevor had gone to my gate with tears and an apology.

And that same morning, he had signed a paper saying his mother had lost her mind.

“When is the hearing?”

“Thursday. Nine a.m.”

“Then we’ll be ready,” I said.
PART 3B — THE WOMAN IN THE TRUST RECORDS

On Wednesday, before the capacity hearing, I met with Howard and a forensic document examiner named Elaine Foster in a small conference room above his office.