Just below her name was a second signature, acting as a witness to her mental competency on the day the trust was altered.

The signature was written in a sharp, angular hand.

It was a name I recognized instantly, but one that made no sense in this context.

Before I could speak, the phone in Julian’s coat pocket began to vibrate against his chest.

The sound was loud, a harsh buzzing that seemed to vibrate through the very stones of the chapel.

Julian pulled the phone out, his thumb swiping the screen to unlock it.

A single text message was visible on the screen, accompanied by an attached photograph.

As Julian stared at the image, all the color left his face, leaving him looking older than his years.

“Evelyn,” Julian said, his voice trembling as he held the screen out toward me. “Look at this.”

I squinted at the glowing screen of Julian’s phone.

The image was a high-resolution photograph of Graham and Sloane Mercer standing on the marble steps of the county courthouse.

Sloane was smiling, her head tilted back, and her left hand was resting conspicuously on Graham’s dark wool lapel.