Judge Wynn turned toward the plaintiffs' table.
She had questions about the family's history.
The attorney stood.
"My clients are prepared to address the court's concerns."
The judge looked at my father.
"Mr. Marsh, did you know where your son was placed after the police found him?"
My father adjusted his tie.
"I don't remember the details."
I stared at him.
He had remembered enough to describe me as a runaway.
He had remembered enough to file a report.
But apparently, he couldn't remember what happened after the police found his son.
The judge asked another question.
"Did you make efforts to locate him?"
My father looked at his attorney.
The attorney leaned closer.
Then my father answered.
"We believed he was being taken care of."
"By whom?"
He didn't answer immediately.
I watched his fingers move against the edge of the table.
"I don't know."
The judge made another note.
Then she turned toward my mother.
"Mrs. Marsh, did you contact child services after that evening?"
My mother shook her head.
"Not that I remember."
I felt my stomach tighten.
I remembered her hand around my wrist.
I remembered her voice telling me to stay.
I remembered the empty bench after the police officer asked me to leave.
She couldn't remember what happened afterward.
Or she didn't want to say.
I couldn't tell.
The judge looked toward Wyatt.
"Is there a reason you are involved in this claim?"
Their attorney answered before Wyatt could.
"Wyatt Marsh is present as a family member and supports his parents' position."
The judge nodded.
Then she looked directly at him.
"Mr. Marsh, did you have any contact with Matthew during those twenty-two years?"
Wyatt shifted in his chair.
"No."
His answer was short.
The judge waited.
"Did you attempt to contact him?"
He looked down.
"No."
I hadn't expected anything different.
He had been younger than me.
I didn't know what he had been told as a child.
I didn't know whether our parents had mentioned my name around their dinner table.
But he was an adult now.
And he had chosen to come to court to support their claim.
I didn't hate him.
I didn't feel close to him either.
He looked at me briefly.
Then he turned away.
The judge asked whether he knew about the inheritance before the lawsuit was filed.
Wyatt's attorney objected to the question.
Judge Wynn considered the objection.
"I am asking about the circumstances surrounding this claim. The witness may answer if he knows."
Wyatt looked toward his parents.
His father gave him a small movement of the head.
I couldn't tell what it meant.
Wyatt finally answered.
"I heard about the estate."
"Before the lawsuit?"
"Yes."
The judge wrote something down.
"How did you learn about it?"
"My parents told me."
There it was.
The inheritance had become a family subject before anyone had spoken to me.
I sat quietly.
The estate had been Elijah's.
He had built it through careful investments and commercial property.
He had left it to me.
Yet my biological family had discussed it as though it were something they had discovered and needed to divide.
The judge turned back to the attorney.
"Do the plaintiffs contend that Wyatt has any independent legal interest in this estate?"
"No, Your Honor."
"Then we will focus on the claims actually before the court."
The attorney sat down.
My mother looked toward Wyatt.
He didn't meet her eyes.
For a moment, I felt sorry for him.
He was sitting between the people who had raised him and the brother he had never known.
But sympathy couldn't change the evidence.
I returned my attention to the judge.
She asked whether the plaintiffs had additional documents to submit.
Their attorney said they had materials concerning the family's circumstances.
The judge asked him to identify their relevance.
He began explaining.
I listened carefully.
I had no reason to interrupt.
But I had learned that the more people talked about family without showing the legal history, the further they moved from the question that mattered.
The inheritance belonged to Elijah's legal son.
That son was me.
And Arthur and Evelyn had spent twenty-two years living their lives without me.
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: The Navy Dress, the Old Police Report, and the Question My Mother Had Avoided Since the Night She Left Me
The Little Boy Who Believed His Parents Would Return, Even After Everyone Else Had Stopped Waiting
Part 10 of 24
