Brittany sat hunched over, shaking, staring at the floor as if the wood might open and return her old life.
Patricia reached for me when I walked near the plaintiff table.
I stepped out of reach.
“Cassidy,” she pleaded. “Please. We made mistakes.”
I looked at her hand hanging in the space between us.
That hand had signed an affidavit calling me incompetent.
That hand had probably held a pen while she agreed to put me in a basement.
“You tried to erase me,” I said.
Patricia shook her head. “No. No, honey. Jamal confused us. We didn’t understand.”
“You understood the condo.”
Her face crumpled.
My father cleared his throat. “We can fix this privately.”
That almost made me laugh.
“Privately?” I repeated. “You dragged me into federal court.”
He looked around, embarrassed by the word federal, as if the room itself was gossiping.
“You have money,” Brittany said suddenly.
