“…passed away,” Mr. Callahan finished. “Eleven years ago, Walter transferred this house into a living trust, naming your mother as sole lifetime owner. You were never a beneficiary, Mr. Brian.” The color drained from Brian’s face. Amanda dropped the paint swatches. Dorothy stood quietly in the doorway, one hand pressed to her chest. Then the lawyer pulled out a second page, and his voice sharpened. “There is also the matter of a forged signature on the lock change order.”

Brian stammered that it was a misunderstanding, but one officer stepped forward and asked for his identification. Mr. Callahan slid a photograph from the folder, a security still of Brian handing a locksmith a document, dated that very morning. Dorothy looked at her son for a long moment. “I carried you for nine months,” she said softly. “I never imagined you would carry me out.”