The courtroom was a pressure cooker, every eye fixed on the judge as he announced the arrival of the handwriting expert. The tension was palpable; even the air seemed heavier as the expert took the stand, clutching a folder of documents that could decide the future of my mother's legacy—and my own.
I glanced at Damien, his jaw set in a grim line, his hands clenched tightly on the table in front of him. Despite everything, he hadn't left my side. Yet the weight of his family's actions pressed down on both of us.
"State your name and profession for the court," the judge commanded.
The expert, a middle-aged woman with sharp eyes and an air of precision, nodded. "Dr. Eleanor Hughes, forensic document examiner."
Damien's brother, Vincent, leaned back in his chair, a smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His lawyer, Mr. Whitaker, shot a glance at me, a predator waiting for the moment to strike.
