He didn’t look at his lawyer.

“The power of attorney was temporary, Your Honor,” his lawyer said.

“The respondent’s own father can account for those transfers.”

Arthur Hayward cleared his throat.

Judge Whitfield looked down at him from the bench, and Arthur fixed his eyes on the floor.

Clare called Edward Miller, who walked to the stand with his handkerchief folded in his breast pocket and swore that he had kept a sealed document in his firm’s vault since three years before my grandmother died.

“For nineteen years she told me she had a surprise tucked away in that vault,” Edward said.