What have you told me?"
David's nostrils flared.
"I gave you twenty-two years of—"
"Did you give me twenty-two years, David?
Or did you spend three of them making me think my neighbor hated me?"
He didn't answer.
His hand went to his pocket.
He pulled out his phone.
"You're making a mistake," he said.
"A big one."
"Are you threatening me?"
"I'm warning you." He looked at Mr.
Higgins.
"Tell her what happens when she signs that.
Tell her I'll contest this will in court.
Tell her I'll—"
"You are welcome to contest the will, Mr.
Garrett," Mr.
Higgins said.
He opened a second folder on his desk.
"But before you do, you should know that Mr.
Sloan also left this."
He turned the folder toward David.
Inside were photographs.
I couldn't see them clearly from where I sat, but I could see David's face change.
The color drained from his cheeks.
"What is that?" I asked.
Mr.
Higgins turned the folder toward me.
Photographs.
Date-stamped.
David standing at Mr.
Sloan's back door.
David carrying a small bag into Mr.
Sloan's garage.
David talking to a man in a white van in Mr.
Sloan's driveway.
"Mr.
Sloan installed cameras eight months ago," Mr.
Higgins said.
"After he suspected someone was entering his home while he was at his doctor's appointments."
I looked at David.
"You were going into his house?"
David's phone was still in his hand.
His thumb hovered over the screen.
