Morrison shuffled his papers, clearly unprepared for this turn. “Based on behavioral observations from family members.”
I almost laughed. “Your Honor, my daughter observed me asking for help with tasks I was perfectly capable of handling myself. I wanted to see how they’d treat someone they perceived as helpless.”
“And what did you discover, Mrs. Hamilton?”
I looked directly at Patricia, seeing the hurt and confusion in her eyes. “I discovered that my own daughter views me as an obstacle to her inheritance, not as a person deserving of respect.”
Morrison made one last desperate attempt. “Your Honor, Mrs. Hamilton clearly orchestrated this entire scenario to make her daughter appear greedy.”
Judge Walsh’s expression grew stern. “Mr. Morrison, are you suggesting that Mrs. Hamilton manipulated your client into filing a frivolous lawsuit?”
The trap was closing, and Morrison was walking right into it.
During the recess, I watched Patricia and Michael huddled with Morrison in the hallway. Patricia kept glancing at me through the glass doors. Her face was a mixture of shock and something that might have been fear. Michael was pacing, his phone pressed to his ear.
I caught fragments of his conversation: “Much more complicated than we thought,” and, “Need to reassess our position.”
They’d built their entire case on the assumption that I was a simple housewife who’d somehow stumbled into wealth. Now they were scrambling to understand who they were really dealing with.
Morrison approached me during the break, his earlier confidence replaced by cautious respect. “Mrs. Hamilton, perhaps we could discuss a settlement.”
“What kind of settlement, Mr. Morrison?”
“Your daughter is willing to withdraw the competency petition in exchange for a more equitable distribution of the estate.”
I almost smiled. “You mean Patricia wants her inheritance after all?”
“Mrs. Hamilton, surely you understand your daughter’s position. She expected to inherit something significant from her father.”
“Mr. Morrison, my daughter inherited something invaluable from her father: a loving family, an excellent education, and every opportunity to succeed. The fact that she chose to take those gifts for granted doesn’t entitle her to his money.”
“But $62 million is a substantial sum for one person to manage alone.”
“Are you questioning my mental capacity again, Mr. Morrison? Because I should warn you, that didn’t work out well for you in there.”
Morrison’s professional mask slipped slightly. “Mrs. Hamilton, I’ll be frank. My clients are reconsidering their approach. They’d prefer to resolve this privately.”
“I’m sure they would.” I gathered my purse. “But we’re past the point of private resolution. Your clients made this public when they filed papers claiming I was mentally incompetent. Now they can face the consequences of their accusations.”
When court reconvened, Morrison requested a continuance to reassess the evidence. Judge Walsh denied the request.
“Mr. Morrison, you filed this petition claiming urgency due to Mrs. Hamilton’s alleged mental state. You can’t now claim you need more time to build your case.”
Patricia took the stand as their primary witness. I watched my daughter struggle to reconcile the mother she thought she knew with the woman who’d just outmaneuvered her attorney.
“Mrs. Brooks,” Morrison began. “Please describe your mother’s behavior following your father’s death.”
Patricia’s voice was uncertain now. “She seemed confused about financial matters. She asked me questions about banking, about investments.”
“Did these questions concern you?”
“At the time, yes. But now I’m wondering if she—” She trailed off, looking at me.
“If what, Mrs. Brooks?”