Chapter 8: The Letter
The recess lasted twenty minutes.
Diana spent all of it at the small table in the side room they were given, reading the letter twice, then a third time, her reading glasses on, her expression giving away nothing.
Evelyn sat across from her and waited.
"Well?" she said, when Diana set it down.
"It's not in her handwriting," Diana said.
Evelyn went very still.
"I have three letters Margaret wrote to me personally during the years I worked for the family," Diana said.
"I brought them today.
Not because I thought I'd need them — because I always bring everything." She set the three letters beside the new document.
"Look at the capital M.
Look at the way she forms the letter H in Harcourt."
Evelyn looked.
She was not a handwriting expert.
But even she could see it — the new letter's M was rounded, looping.
The letters from Diana's file were angular, pressed hard into the page.
"He forged it," Evelyn said.
"Someone did." Diana's voice was controlled.
"Or it was typed and signed, and the signature was traced, or copied from another document.
I'm not a forensic examiner.
But I know her handwriting, and this is not it."
"Can you prove that in the next twenty minutes?"
"I can raise enough doubt to have the document suspended pending examination." Diana was already writing.
"Which is what we're going to do." She looked up.
"This is the something I was waiting for.
He's desperate, Evelyn.
Desperate people make mistakes.
He just made one in front of a judge."
They went back in at two-thirty.
Diana rose before Prescott could speak.
"Your Honor, I've had the opportunity to briefly examine the document introduced by my learned colleague before the recess.
I have significant concerns about its authenticity and I am requesting that it be suspended from consideration pending independent forensic handwriting analysis.
I have in my possession three letters written by Margaret Harcourt during her lifetime, which I am submitting now for comparison."
Prescott was on his feet.
"Your Honor, the document was found among Mrs.
Harcourt's personal effects by my client—"
"By your client," Judge Sutton said.
"Not by an independent party."
"It was among her private papers—"
"Mr.
Prescott." Judge Sutton's voice had not risen.
It had done the opposite.
"You are introducing a document of significant evidentiary weight, found by the interested party, at two-seventeen in the afternoon of the hearing, after seven months of proceedings." She looked at him over her glasses.
"I am suspending the document pending forensic examination.
We will proceed without it."
Prescott sat down.
Julian's hand, resting on the table, closed into a fist.
Gerald Foss took the stand at two forty-five.
He was a compact man in his seventies with white hair and a careful way of speaking — the kind of man who had spent decades choosing words precisely because imprecision had consequences.
Diana walked him through the codicil methodically.
When it was drafted.
How Margaret had contacted his office.
The two meetings they had held.
The witnesses present at signing.
The process by which it had been entered into the estate record.
"In your professional opinion," Diana said, "was Margaret Harcourt of sound mind when she executed this codicil?"
"Completely," Gerald Foss said.
"She was physically unwell.
She was not cognitively impaired.
She knew exactly what she was doing and why."
"Did she explain her reasons for the bequest?"
"She did."
"Can you share what she told you?"
Prescott rose.
"Objection.
Hearsay."
"Your Honor," Diana said, "the statement of a deceased testator explaining the intent of their own bequest falls under the recognized exception for statements of then-existing mental state."
Judge Sutton considered for a moment.
"I'll allow it.
Mr.
Foss."
Gerald Foss folded his hands.
"She told me that she had not been kind to her daughter-in-law.
That she had allowed her son to treat his wife in ways she was ashamed of, and that she had said nothing because she did not want conflict in the family." He paused.
"She said she wanted to do one thing right before she died.
Those were her words.
One thing right."
The room was very quiet.
Evelyn looked at the table in front of her.
She did not trust her face at that moment.
"She also said," Gerald Foss continued, "that she was afraid Julian would contest the codicil.
She asked me what could be done to protect it.
I told her the best protection was documentation, witnesses, and a clear statement of intent.
She provided all three."
Diana nodded.
"No further questions."
Prescott's cross-examination lasted twelve minutes.
He found no purchase.
Gerald Foss was thirty-one years of careful practice, and he did not give an inch.
When it was over, Judge Sutton called both counsel to the bench.
Evelyn watched the exchange from across the room.
She could not hear the words.
She could read the posture — Prescott stiff, Diana still, the judge's expression unchanged.
When Diana came back, she sat down and opened her folder.
"She's going to rule today," she said quietly.
"She's not going to delay it."
"Is that good?"
"It means she's seen enough." Diana looked at her.
"Yes.
It's good."
Julian leaned toward Prescott and said something.
Prescott shook his head once.
Julian said something else.
Prescott put a hand on his arm.
Julian pulled his arm away.
Judge Sutton returned to the bench at four-ten.
She ruled for forty minutes.
The codicil was valid.
The bequest stood.
The diamond brooch and the three other pieces of jewelry named in Margaret Harcourt's will were to be transferred to Evelyn within thirty days.
The monetary bequest — one hundred and twelve thousand pounds — was to be released from the estate within sixty days, pending standard processing.
The forged letter, she noted for the record, would be referred to the relevant authorities for investigation into potential fraud upon the court.
Julian's chair scraped back.
"This is not finished," he said.
His voice was loud enough for the room to hear.
"I will appeal.
I will take this as far as it needs to go.
You have no idea—"
"Mr.
Harcourt." Judge Sutton's voice did not rise.
"Sit down, or I will hold you in contempt."
Prescott grabbed his arm.
This time Julian did not pull away.
He sat.
But his eyes went to Evelyn — and what was in them was not anger anymore.
It was something rawer than that.
Something that had lost its performance entirely.
"You'll regret this," he said, quietly enough that only she could hear it.
"Everything you think you've won today — I will take it back.
Every piece of it."
Evelyn looked at him.
"Your mother said she wanted to do one thing right," she said.
"She did."
May you like
She turned away.
Diana was already gathering her files.
