She pushed a third page toward me.

April thirtieth.

A general power of attorney, signed by Ruth Hayward, witnessed and notarized, and underneath it a paragraph in Robert’s own handwriting swearing that his mother was of sound mind and fully able to handle her own affairs.

“Six weeks before he stood in front of a judge and called her confused,” Clare said.

“He can’t swear to both.

Not honestly, and not in Greenville County.”