Agnes Read Nine Quiet Words Into The Courtroom Record

The attachment was called Selam Signature Source.

It showed my signature cut from the $640 repair invoice. The black half circle remained under my name.

Dawit had attached it to the same email as the removal authorization. Mott's office had saved every attachment when his consignment arrived. Nobody there had asked why a seller needed a separate picture of someone else's approval.

Now there was a reason to ask.

Ruth gave his lawyer the email through the case process. Nothing waited in her bag for a surprise at the hearing.

"We want answers they had time to consider," she told me.

By March, I knew the courtroom's six steps as well as my own stairs. I wore a blue blouse Aunt Meron had woven the cloth for. Its cuffs were plain; the pattern began above my elbows.

Dawit wore a dark suit. He looked past me toward the witness chairs.

Agnes sat there with her green glasses cord straight down her chest.

The judge first heard about the 2023 will. Marla Finch, my aunt's neighbor, described watching Meron sign it. Agnes had been the other witness and confirmed the same events.

"Did Selam tell her what to write?" Dawit's lawyer asked Marla.

"Selam wasn't there. Meron sent her out for boxes because she kept tidying the table."

A few people smiled. I looked at my hands.

Ruth placed the original will beside the copy her office had kept. The signatures and pages matched. There was no later genuine document in evidence, unless Dawit could support his codicil.

His lawyer asked Agnes about her calendar.

"You made this entry yourself?"

"Yes."

"So it depended on your memory?"

"It depended on my pen that morning. I wrote it while he put on his jacket."

"You had retired. Why keep appointments in a ledger?"

"Retirement didn't make people arrive when they said they would."

The judge asked her to read the relevant line.

Agnes adjusted her glasses.

"Dawit Tesfaye. Alone. Asked about certifying detached signature pages."

She stopped at the period.

Nine words, counting his name. I had rehearsed whole speeches in the shower. Those nine did more than any of them.

Ruth asked, "Were you at the archive at nine that morning?"

"No."

"Did you watch Meron sign this codicil?"

"No."

"Did you give Dawit permission to use your signature or stamp?"

"No."

Both lawyers had agreed that the document examiner's report could be admitted without the examiner traveling to court. It described printed signature images on what Dawit had called the original codicil, and matched them to the 2019 loan page.

His lawyer argued that Aunt Meron might still have approved the document.

Ruth asked Dawit who had been with her when she supposedly did.

"Agnes," he said.

"Agnes denied being there. Was there anyone else?"

"My aunt wanted privacy."

"Who printed it?"

"I handled the office work."

"Who attached Selam Signature Source to your auction email?"

He shifted in his chair.

"We kept shared records."

"Did Selam authorize the removal of the Stair Draft?"

"She understood we needed money."

"Did she authorize its removal?"

"Not in those words."

When I testified, I described the repair invoice, the archive logs, and the lock change. Ruth asked about the fireproof pouch.

"Why had your aunt given you the original will?"

"She wanted me to keep it safe."

"Had you understood it?"

"Every page."

Dawit watched me then.

He had spent years handing me forms he didn't want to read. He had called that work simple when I did it and legal when he wanted to keep it from me.

His lawyer asked whether I resented my cousin.

"Yes," I said.

Ruth didn't move.

"Did that affect these records?" his lawyer asked.

"Most were made before I had any reason to resent him. The bank made the others."

The accountant explained the $9,400 transfer. Helen confirmed that no payment had reached me. The auction advance and its personal repayment terms went into the record, too.

The judge took the case under review and kept the protective order in place.

I had wanted to tell Dawit how small he had made me feel beside that changed lock. There hadn't been a place for that in my testimony. Instead, the clerk had marked each record and kept it. I could leave the room without having to hold every word of the day in my head.

Outside, Agnes asked whether I had eaten breakfast.

"Half a piece of toast."

"That sounded like testimony from an unreliable person."

We went for soup. I ate a whole roll without counting anything.

Two days later, Dawit's lawyer sent a proposed settlement. The first page gave me the archive.

The last made me promise to pay Dawit's $18,500 auction debt.