Judge Warrick, a heavyset man with half-moon glasses, turned the page.
“Ms. Carmichael?”
She rose.
“Your Honor, we have three exhibits.”
The first was a stapled sheet she handed to the clerk.
“Exhibit A. The certified d*ath certificate of Cooper James Talbot. Date of d*ath: August ninth, 2009.”
She let it sit.
“Exhibit B. The so-called First Amendment. Date of signature: November fourteenth, 2009. Filed with the probate court three days later.”
A murmur ran through the gallery.
“In other words, Your Honor, the Ziegler defense asks this court to believe my client’s father signed a legal document three months after he was laid to rest.”
Mr. Montrose smiled thinly.
“A typographical error, Your Honor.”
“Possibly,” Ms. Carmichael said. “Which brings us to Exhibit C.”
She turned and nodded at the back row.
Sasha Gillespie stood up.
She was in her only dress, a blue one that was too big, and her hands were trembling around a manila envelope.
