“A court order,”
David said, dangerously soft.
“Please show me. I am an officer of the court. I am required to obey a lawful order.”
Andrew—thinking he’d won—shoved the papers at David.
“See? It’s all there. Motion to contest. Unequal distribution.”
David took the papers.
He glanced at the first page.
Then the second.
The movers watched.
My mother watched.
Andrew watched, chest puffed out.
David looked up, his face blank.
“Mr. Gable, this is a fascinating piece of creative writing,”
he said,
“but it is not a court order. It’s not even a valid filing.”
“There’s no case number. No judge’s signature.”
“And this letterhead—Peters Legal Services—belongs to a Mr. Arthur Peters, a man who was disbarred in 2019 for real estate fraud. A man with two pending cases for this exact kind of scam.”
The color drained from Andrew’s face.
Margaret’s mouth opened and closed silently.
“But—”
Andrew stammered.
“He’s a lawyer. He is—”
“He is a con artist,”
David said, his voice rising so the movers could hear,
“whom you hired to conspire to defraud your sister. Which is a felony.”
“In fact,”
David held up the papers,
“this document itself is an instrument of fraud. And by presenting it to me—an attorney—and to these gentlemen,”
he gestured to the movers,
“in an attempt to steal this property, you have just committed a crime in front of witnesses.”
“You can’t prove that,”
Margaret cried, but her voice shook.
“I can,”
I said.
I stepped forward, holding my file.
“Andrew, Mom—you were right. I was being unfair. I should have been more transparent.”
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