Attorney Dana Whitfield set her briefcase on the entry table and looked at the folder in Curtis’s hands. “Mr. Doyle, that is a quitclaim deed, and it names you as owner of a property you have never owned.” Curtis tried to laugh, but it came out thin. “It is also notarized by a man who lost his commission last year,” she added. Paige went white, and the crystal glass slipped from her fingers and shattered on the tile.

Dad lifted his head slowly. “Evan,” he whispered, “there is something I should have told you two weeks ago.” Mom stepped forward, shaking, and took his hand. Then Dana opened her briefcase and pulled out a small black recorder. “Before anyone speaks,” she said, “I think everyone should hear this.” Her thumb pressed play, and Curtis’s own voice filled the room.