“Your Honor,” I said, holding up the first page, “the plaintiffs testified under oath that they are financially destitute. This is a sworn bank statement showing two hundred twenty thousand dollars in liquid investments and a fully funded retirement account.” I laid it flat where the judge could see. Their lawyer rose to object and got halfway out of his chair before he read the exhibit stamp and sat back down. Judge Whitfield’s expression cooled by several degrees. “Continue,” she said.

“There’s more.” I turned the page slowly, letting them watch. “For thirty-six straight months, my parents wired my brother exactly two thousand eight hundred dollars. One hundred thousand eight hundred dollars total. They labeled every transfer ‘business consulting’ and deducted it on their taxes.” I set down the wire logs. “My brother never reported a cent of it as income. And two months ago they borrowed fifty-five thousand dollars against the very house they claim they’re too poor to keep, to fund this lawsuit.” The courtroom went silent. My mother’s fake tears had stopped completely. Their lawyer had gone the color of paper.