I felt a cold drop of sweat slide down my ribcage, but I kept my hands flat on the table.

“Is that so?” Sarah asked.

She slid a sleek black laptop toward him.

On the screen was the digital metadata of the signature portal, showing the exact IP addresses used to access and sign the authorization.

“This login occurred at 3:14 AM from your private office computer,” Sarah said. “While Evelyn was still in the high-dependency recovery ward, heavily medicated.”

Nolan didn’t blink. “I helped her sign it. She asked me to do it for her because her hands were shaking.”

“And the agreement you signed with Sloane Barrett six months before your wedding?” I asked, speaking for the first time.

Nolan’s lawyer leaned over to whisper in his ear, but Nolan brushed him off with a sharp flick of his wrist.

“That was a preliminary business venture, Evelyn,” Nolan said, his tone dripping with condescension. “It had nothing to do with your family.”

“It laid out the exact percentage split of the Hartwell assets,” I said.