I turned to the Judge. “I have no further questions.”
Judge Halloway didn’t hesitate.
“The Plaintiff’s case is entirely without merit,” she ruled. “The testimony provided by Robert and Linda Vance is deemed unreliable and perjurious. The will of Rose Vance stands valid.”
She banged the gavel.
“Furthermore,” Halloway continued, glaring at Sterling. “I am dismissing this case with prejudice. And, Mr. Sterling, I am ordering your clients to pay all legal costs incurred by the estate. And I am referring the transcript of this trial to the District Attorney’s office to investigate charges of perjury and attempted fraud.”
My mother let out a shriek. “Arrest? You can’t! Elena, stop them!”
She ran over to me as I was packing my single folder into my bag. She grabbed my arm.
“Elena! You can’t let them do this! We’re your family! We’re your parents!”
I looked at her hand on my arm. I remembered all the times that hand had pushed me away. I remembered the funeral. I remembered the lies she told on the stand ten minutes ago.
I removed her hand gently but firmly.
“I’m an officer of the court, Mother,” I said coldly. “I cannot ignore a crime just because I’m related to the criminal. You swore an oath to tell the truth. You broke it.”
“But we’ll lose everything!” she sobbed.
“You lost everything the day you decided money was more important than your daughter,” I said.
I turned to my father, who was still sitting in the witness box, head in his hands.
“You said I didn’t deserve a cent,” I said to him. “You were right. Nobody ‘deserves’ an inheritance. But Nana Rose gave it to me because she trusted me. And today, I proved she was right.”
I walked toward the exit.
“You’re cold!” my father called out, his voice cracking. “You have ice in your veins!”
I stopped at the heavy wooden doors and looked back.
“No, Dad,” I said. “That’s just the discipline you never bothered to notice.”
Six Months Later.
The ribbon-cutting ceremony was modest, just the way Nana Rose would have liked it.
I stood in the lobby of the newly renovated wing of the city’s Veterans’ Legal Aid Clinic. The air smelled of fresh paint and hope.
On the wall, a bronze plaque shone under the recessed lighting: The Nana Rose Center for Justice.
I had kept enough of the inheritance to pay off my own law school loans and buy a small house near the base. The rest—nearly four million dollars—I had donated here.
