Victoria waved dismissively.
“The Bradford family has owned this estate for decades.”
“Actually, no.”
Ray continued scrolling.
“James Washington’s estate was passed to his son, Robert Washington, in 1952, then to Robert’s daughter.”
He paused.
“Angela Washington.”
The silence was deafening.
“That’s impossible,” Harrison sputtered. “The Bradfords bought this property legally.”
Ray shook his head.
“No sale recorded. The property transferred through inheritance to Miss Washington in 2003.”
Victoria’s face drained of color.
“There must be some mistake in the records.”
“County records don’t lie.”
Ray’s voice carried the authority of a detective.
“But let’s double-check.”
He made a phone call.
“Hey, Maria. Ray Coleman. Can you pull the complete file on 47 Meadowbrook Lane? Yeah, I’ll hold.”
While they waited, Angela opened her briefcase again.
She removed a manila folder thick with documents.
“What are those papers?” the woman in the pink dress asked nervously.
“Property deeds, tax records, inheritance documentation.”
Angela’s voice was library quiet.
“Would you like to see them?”
Victoria lunged forward.
“Don’t show them anything. This is some kind of elaborate scam.”
Ray held up his hand.
“Maria? Yeah, I’m here.”
He listened intently.
“Uh-huh. No sales recorded. Property taxes paid by Angela Washington Trust.”
His eyes widened.
“For how long? Twenty-two years?”
He hung up slowly.
Victoria’s voice cracked.
“Miss Washington has been paying property taxes on this estate since 2003.”
The crowd erupted in confused chatter.
“That’s impossible!” Victoria shrieked. “We’ve been living here. We’ve been maintaining the property.”
Angela spoke for the first time.
“Without permission.”
“Without what?”
“You’ve been living on my property without permission for twenty years.”
Victoria’s world tilted sideways.
“Your property?”
“Your property?”
Angela removed a document from her folder.
“Original deed signed by my grandfather in 1924. Inheritance papers from my father’s estate. Current property tax records.”
She spread them on the table like playing cards.
Ray examined them professionally.
“These look legitimate. Official seals, proper signatures, county stamps.”
“They’re forgeries!”
Victoria’s voice rose to hysteria.
“Elaborate forgeries designed to steal our home.”
“Ma’am.”
Ray’s patience was wearing thin.
“Do you have any documentation proving your family owns this property?”
Victoria’s mouth opened and closed.
“Of course we do. It’s… it’s in the safe somewhere.”
“Then perhaps you should retrieve it.”
Angela checked her watch again.
“Detective Coleman, don’t you think the wedding guests deserve to know the truth about where they’re celebrating?”
The crowd shifted uncomfortably.
They had come for a society wedding, not a property dispute.