Part 4

Although I stopped practicing professionally, I maintained my legal credentials and continued studying developments in the law.

My study contained decades of annotated casebooks and legal research.

Robert always teased me about it.

“You may have retired from the courtroom,” he used to say, “but the courtroom never retired from you.”

Now, after thirty years away, I was preparing to return.

I contacted my former colleague, Margaret, about our shared history and the possibility that her involvement in the case could present an ethical conflict.

She remembered me immediately.

“Dorothy Mitchell? I can’t believe it!”

We spoke briefly about law school and our careers.

Then I explained the lawsuit.

Margaret was astonished.

“Your daughter thinks you don’t understand the law?”

“Apparently.”

“And you’re planning to defend yourself?”

“Yes.”

She reminded me that court procedures had changed considerably since I last practiced.

I assured her that I had kept my knowledge current.

Before ending the conversation, I made one thing clear.

I expected no special treatment.

Any potential conflict involving our previous association would need to be handled through the appropriate judicial process.

I intended to win through evidence, not friendship.

That evening, I reviewed Patricia’s allegations line by line.

Her attorney, James Morrison, had built the case around my supposed lack of education, legal knowledge, and business experience. He seemed convinced that I would become frightened by the legal process and agree to surrender control.

He had not researched my professional history.

That was his first mistake.

His second was assuming that old age automatically meant incompetence.

And his third was filing serious allegations without sufficient supporting evidence.

I spent hours organizing documents.

Robert’s original estate records.

The properly executed will.

Financial statements.

Communications with Patricia and Michael.

And records showing how much money Robert and I had provided them over the years.

By midnight, I had completed my initial defense strategy.

I looked at Robert’s photograph.

“You always knew this day might come,” I whispered.

Then I turned off the light.

The following morning, I dressed carefully.

Not in an expensive designer suit.

Not in anything intended to intimidate.

I chose an old navy dress, comfortable shoes, and the handbag I’d carried for years.

When I entered the courthouse, Patricia and Michael were already waiting.

They looked confident.

Michael whispered something, and Patricia laughed.

I heard him mention how ridiculous it was that I had arrived without an attorney.

I walked past them and took my seat.

They believed they were watching a confused widow prepare to lose everything.

They had no idea what was coming.

When Judge Walsh entered the courtroom, she glanced toward me.

Her expression changed.

“Mrs. Hamilton?”

“Yes, Your Honor.”

She examined me for another moment.

Then recognition appeared in her eyes.

“Dorothy Mitchell?”

I nodded.

For an instant, the courtroom became unusually quiet.

Patricia looked from the judge to me.