He knew, better than almost anyone alive, just what kind of proof a document needs to survive a challenge.

The court watched the recording.

In it, my husband sat in his study, beside his attorney and two independent witnesses, thin and weak from the illness that would take him, but entirely, unmistakably lucid, his eyes clear and his voice steady.

If Michael never crosses that line, Henry said into the camera, then none of this matters, and this recording can gather dust, and I will have wronged my son by suspecting him, and I will be glad of it.

I hope, more than I can say, that he never does.