The courtroom was packed on the day of the hearing. Sarah sat in the front row, cradling Baby James Junior while our parents flanked her protectively. She dressed the part of the grieving almost-widow perfectly—demure black dress, minimal makeup, practiced look of sorrow. When she took the stand, she played to the gallery masterfully, tears glistening in her eyes as she described her great love with James.
“All I want is what’s fair for my son,” she declared, her voice breaking. “He deserves his father’s legacy.”
My lawyer, Mr. Martinez, waited until she’d finished her performance before he spoke.
“Your Honor, I’d like to submit evidence that proves Miss Thompson’s entire claim is fraudulent.”
He approached the bench with the hospital records. The judge reviewed the documents, her expression unchanging. Sarah’s lawyer jumped up, objecting about chain of custody and document authenticity. Sarah’s composure cracked.
“Those documents are fake!” she shrieked, clutching the baby closer. “She forged them to steal my baby’s inheritance!”
“Your Honor,” Mr. Martinez continued calmly, “given these medical records show Mr. Wilson was sterile, we request a DNA test to establish paternity.”