For the next two weeks, we turned a conference room into a war room. Documents covered every surface—medical records, bank statements, correspondence, witness lists.
“Your grandfather was extremely thorough,” Olivia said one afternoon as she held up a thick folder. “He expected someone might challenge this.”
She handed me the medical records first.
Three months before drafting the will, my grandfather had undergone a complete neurological evaluation. The doctor’s report was clear: Patient demonstrates full mental capacity, strong memory, and sound judgment.
“That completely destroys their incompetency argument,” I said.
“It gets even better,” Olivia replied.
She opened another folder and slid a small flash drive across the table.
“Your grandfather recorded a video.”
My breath caught. “A video?”
She nodded. “He sat down with Charles Bennett a year before he died and explained on camera exactly why he was leaving everything to you.”
She studied me carefully. “Have you watched it yet?”
I shook my head. “Do you want to?”
Part of me did. Another part of me was afraid of what it might stir up. But after a moment, I nodded.
Olivia opened the file on her laptop. The video began to play. My grandfather, Edward Schultz, appeared on the screen, seated in Charles Bennett’s office. He looked thinner than I remembered, but his posture was upright, his eyes focused and alert.
“My name is Edward Schultz,” he said calmly. “I’m recording this to explain my decision.”
I watched every second of the video without speaking. By the time it ended, tears were running down my face.
Olivia closed the laptop quietly. “This is your strongest piece of evidence,” she said. “But we don’t use it immediately.”
I wiped my eyes. “When do we show it?”
“When they fully commit to their story,” she replied. “When they’ve convinced the court that you manipulated him. That’s when we reveal the truth.”
I nodded slowly. Walking into that courtroom was going to be the hardest moment of my life. But I wasn’t going to back down. I had the truth, and that was enough.
On the morning of the trial, I stood outside Cook County Circuit Court trying to steady my breathing. The courthouse steps were packed with reporters. Cameras flashed as I walked toward the entrance.
“Miss Schultz,” someone shouted, “did you manipulate your grandfather?”
I kept walking without answering.
Olivia stayed beside me, her hand lightly on my arm. “Don’t engage,” she whispered. “Let the evidence speak.”
Inside, the courtroom was already full. I recognized several people from Kirkland & Ellis sitting in the gallery, colleagues I had worked with for years. Some looked supportive. Others looked curious, as if they were watching a spectacle unfold.
At the plaintiff’s table sat my parents beside their attorney, Thomas Caldwell. My mother wore an expensive navy suit. My father sat rigidly in his chair, his expression cold and unreadable. Neither of them looked at me.
I sat down at the defense table and arranged my files, though my hands trembled slightly.
“All rise.”
The courtroom stood as Judge Andrew Whitaker entered.
I already knew he had been assigned to the case, but seeing him in person made everything suddenly real. He was in his early sixties, sharp-eyed and known for his no-nonsense rulings. Years earlier, before joining the bench, he had briefly mentored me on a complex contract dispute while he was still practicing law.
He took his seat and opened the case file. Then he looked up.
His gaze landed on me. For a brief second, his eyes widened just slightly.
“Miss Schultz,” he said carefully, his voice neutral. “You’re the defendant in this matter.”
The entire courtroom went quiet.
I stood. “Yes, Your Honor.”
He studied me for a long moment. I could see the recognition in his eyes. He remembered me. He remembered my work. And he was clearly trying to reconcile the attorney he once mentored with the person now accused of elder fraud.
“I see,” he said at last. “Let’s proceed.”
Thomas Caldwell stood and adjusted his suit jacket. He had the kind of polished confidence that comes with decades in high-stakes litigation.
“Your Honor,” he began smoothly, “my clients, Victor and Bonnie Schultz, are here today because of a serious injustice.”
He paused deliberately.
“Their father, Edward Schultz, was a man of great wealth and strong judgment for most of his life. But in his final years, he became vulnerable.”
The word hung in the air.
“The defendant, Marina Schultz, systematically isolated Mr. Schultz from the rest of his family. She manipulated him emotionally and psychologically, and when he was at his weakest, she convinced him to disinherit his own son in favor of herself.”
I felt Olivia’s hand lightly press against my arm, a silent reminder to stay calm.
Caldwell returned to his table and picked up a document.
“Your Honor, I would like to submit Exhibit A, a letter written by Mr. Schultz six months before his death.”
