Even the court reporter’s fingers paused over her machine for a fraction of a second.

“That is a private financial matter,” Trevor’s attorney stammered, standing up.

“It is a matter of fraud, Your Honor,” I said, my voice echoing in the quiet room.

“Mr. Pike signed this application three months ago, before our father ever attempted to transfer the deed.”

“He lied to the bank, claiming he already owned the land, to prevent his other creditors from foreclosing on his current business.”

I handed the bank documents to the bailiff.

Kelsey turned her head slowly to look at her husband.

“Trevor?” she whispered, her voice carrying across the quiet room. “What is she talking about?”

“Shut up, Kelsey,” Trevor muttered, his face turning a dark, angry red.

Harold Lane leaned forward, his hands gripping the wooden railing behind his son-in-law.

“Is this true, Trevor?” Harold asked, his voice low and cracked.

“Order in the court,” Judge Whitaker barked, bringing his hand down on the desk.

The judge took the bank documents from the bailiff and began to read them.

The silence stretched on for what felt like minutes.