The lawyer beside my parents rose smoothly. “Thaddeus Brennan for plaintiffs Preston and Victoria Ward, Your Honor. Service was completed in accordance with statute at defendant’s last known address.”
My head snapped toward him. “That is not my last known address.”
Judge Carrigan didn’t look at me. “Ms. Sinclair, you will not interrupt counsel.”
I gripped the edge of the table. “Yes, Your Honor.”
Brennan continued in that polished voice lawyers use when they want outrage to sound boring. “The Wards have made repeated efforts to contact their daughter regarding unpaid rent and the deteriorating condition of the property. They acted in good faith.”
My mother lowered her eyes, as if the whole thing pained her deeply.
I wanted to throw something.
Instead I said, “May I present evidence?”
Judge Carrigan nodded once.
I handed up my driver’s license first. Then the deed. Then the tax records. The clerk passed them to the bench. The judge looked from the license to my parents.
“Mrs. Ward,” she said, “did you sign for service at 341 Hawthorne Lane?”
