The mountain house had always been my refuge, a cedar-framed place overlooking a lake so still it seemed to hold the sky. When my father died, however, my sister Vanessa suddenly claimed the property belonged to her. She arrived with Damon, her lawyer, and a contract supposedly proving I had transferred my rights months earlier. I stared at the signature, recognizing every curve, yet knowing I had never signed it before.
I refused to surrender, but my parents accused me of being selfish and bitter. Vanessa smiled as though the matter were settled. Her confidence changed when Judge Doyle examined the paperwork and noticed the notary stamp. She asked for the log, then paused, turning toward Vanessa. “On the date this contract was signed,” she said, “where was Miss Ashford recorded as being?” The courtroom fell silent, and I watched my sister’s face lose its color.
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