In the courtroom, Micah was allowed to sit at the back with a notebook. When opposing counsel entered the notarized transfers, my son looked up and said, out loud, that the same notary commission number appeared on two stamps with different expiry dates. Eight seconds. The judge asked him to repeat it. Rosalind stood up before anyone asked her to, and that was the end. The forgery unraveled into a fraud referral, Julian lost the company to my voting bloc, and Serena, who had been the signature and not the forger, walked out of that building alone.
I kept nothing that was not already ours. Micah is twelve now and counts things less. Last week he told me he no longer needs to know the number to feel safe. His father still calls him defective. His father is simply wrong, and my son has finally stopped waiting for that man to see him.
