“And the time?”
“Approximately 2:15.”
“You personally watched Elias Bates sign?”
“Yes.”
“With my parents present?”
“Yes.”
I opened my black folder.
“Your Honor, may I approach?”
Judge Price nodded.
I handed her a certified record from Naval Medical Center Portsmouth along with Grandpa’s hospital intake.
My mother frowned.
Voss stopped leaning back.
I faced the witness.
“Ms. Crane, at 2:15 p.m. on March 18, my grandfather was not sitting in his kitchen.”
Her face tightened.
“He was in a cardiac unit in Portsmouth, sixty-seven miles away, recovering from emergency surgery. He had been admitted at 4:38 that morning and remained hospitalized for nine days.”
Silence.
My father whispered, “That’s impossible.”
“No,” I said. “Forgery is possible.”
Voss jumped to his feet.
“Objection—argumentative.”
“Sustained,” Judge Price said. Then she looked at the notary. “Ms. Crane, answer very carefully from this point forward.”
Crane’s hands began to shake.
My mother glared at me.
“You think one hospital record changes anything?”
“No. The video does.”
That was when they understood I had not arrived unprepared.
The courtroom deputy brought in a secured laptop.
I explained that while deployed in the Gulf of Aden, I had been designated Grandpa’s medical power of attorney. The hospital had arranged a remote capacity assessment because my grandfather suspected “someone was pushing papers at him.”
