My parents stood in the middle of Grandpa’s farm, told me they’d already sold the land to a developer, shoved “consent” papers at my chest, and sneered that I didn’t own a thing, but when I asked for the probate file number, my dad snapped, my mom smirked, and I drove straight to the county clerk instead

“Your Honor, a farm parcel belonging to the estate of Walter Rowan was transferred yesterday to a developer based on an affidavit of heirship claiming the decedent died intestate. Today, a deposited will was located, certified, and filed for probate. The will names Ms. Rowan as executor and sole devisee of the farm. Additionally, the decedent’s deposited packet contains a handwritten codicil specifically disinheriting Dennis and Gail Rowan if they attempt to sell or encumber the farm. We also have an access log and receipt showing Gail Rowan obtained a copy of the will packet yesterday before signing the affidavit claiming no will existed.”

The judge’s eyes lifted.

“Codicil?”

Tessa held it up to the camera.

“Yes, Your Honor.”

He read from his screen, then stopped at the receipt.

I could tell because his pen paused.

“Copy fee,” he read aloud. “Deposited will packet. Paid by Gail Rowan yesterday.”

His expression flattened into something colder than anger.

Then he read the codicil paragraph silently, once, then again.

When he looked up, his voice had changed.

“Ms. Rowan,” he said to me, “are you asking this court to restrain entry and disturbance of the land pending probate determination?”