My father leaned back.
“Ms. Donnelly, do you have documentation?”
“We do, Your Honor.”
“Submit it.”
Bennett objected.
My father overruled him.
Claire handed the clerk another folder.
Slim.
Blue tab.
I had labeled it myself at my kitchen island two nights before, while Marcus slept in a hotel suite downtown with Savannah and my daughter kicked so hard against my ribs I whispered, “I know, sweetheart. I’m mad too.”
My father read the first page.
Then the second.
Then he looked at Marcus.
“Mr. Vale, are you currently pursuing acquisition of land adjacent to Mrs. Vale’s separate inherited property?”
Marcus smiled.
There it was.
The media smile.
The investor smile.
The smile that had made senators lean closer and anchors forget follow-up questions.
“Your Honor, Vale Capital evaluates hundreds of opportunities. I’m not familiar with every parcel.”
My father nodded once.
“To be clear, you do not know whether entities under your control have purchased land surrounding your wife’s separate property?”
