He looked up at me. “To you, Miss Ashford,” he said.

Murmurs rippled around the table.

“That’s a forgery,” Josephine said, but her voice had lost its confidence.

“It is not,” Jonathan said at once. “And I’d advise you against making accusations without evidence, Miss Ashford. Woods and Associates’ reputation speaks for itself,” he added.

Harold’s palm struck the table. “This is absurd. My mother was ill. She was being manipulated,” he said.

“Manipulated?” I asked. I pulled out my phone. “Perhaps you’d like to explain this, then,” I said.