yond the grave.
I had the letter analyzed by a certified forensic document examiner. The report was in the yellow tab. The signature was not authentic. It had been digitally lifted from a property tax filing dated 2023 and pasted onto the letter using image editing software. The metadata embedded in the letter’s PDF showed a creation date four days after my father’s death, on a computer registered to the law office of Curtis Hamley.
Curtis slammed his hand on the table.
I kept speaking.
The letter was a forgery, submitted under oath to a probate court as part of a fraudulent conservatorship petition. Under Texas Penal Code, aggravated perjury. And under the statute governing secured execution of a document by deception involving value over three hundred thousand dollars, a first-degree felony.
Judge Alderman looked at Curtis for a long time. The silence between them had a specific quality, the silence of a man who has just been caught understanding that the silence contains him.
“Mr. Hamley,” the judge said quietly, “did you prepare that document?”
