The word landed in the courtroom like a stone dropped into still water. Fourteen. Judge Doyle set the contract down and studied me with new attention, while behind me my mother’s bracelet went silent. Vanessa’s feverish smile flickered. She had spent months telling everyone I was unstable, impulsive, incapable of managing my own affairs, and now the judge was learning I quietly owned fourteen properties.

Damon leaned forward, sensing the ground shift. Mr. Cole cleared his throat and tried to steer back to the signed agreement. But Judge Doyle lifted one hand to stop him. She had noticed something on the document that no one at their table had considered, and she asked the clerk to bring her the original notary log for the date printed at the top of their precious contract.