After my husband’s funeral, I went to my sister’s son’s first birthday party, and she announced, “My son is your husband’s child, so…””Inheritance, I’m going to take half of your $800,000 house.” She even showed me her will. I said, “Oh, I see,” and tried to stifle a laugh. BECAUSE MY HUSBAND…

I presented Adam’s legitimate will, his medical records confirming the vasectomy, and his journal. “Adam was nothing if not thorough,” James observed. “These medical records alone disprove her claim.”

“What should I do?” I asked. “I don’t want to publicly humiliate her, but I can’t let her take half our home based on a lie.”

James suggested hiring a private investigator. Frank Delaney, a former police detective, was tasked to investigate Cassandra’s financial situation and Lucas’s biological father.

Three days later, Frank revealed Cassandra was in dire financial straits: $75,000 in debt, facing eviction, and abandoned by Tyler, who paid minimal child support. Frank also produced damning text messages between Cassandra and her friend Jenna, detailing her plan to claim part of my house using a forged will. “Bridget has always been the golden child. Time for me to get my share,” one message read.

“Tyler Martin, Lucas’s actual father, has a history of domestic violence and a warrant for unpaid child support,” Frank added.

I was stunned. My sister was desperate, willing to destroy Adam’s reputation and our marriage, and her choices had put Lucas in danger. “What do I do?” I asked. “Lucas is innocent; he’s still my nephew.”

James offered options: press criminal charges, or handle it privately, confronting her with evidence and working out a protective arrangement for Lucas.

After much reflection and an emergency session with my therapist, Dr. Laurel Chen (“Compassion doesn’t mean allowing yourself to be victimized”), I decided on a private confrontation. I would offer her a choice: face legal consequences or accept a compromise that provided for Lucas while demanding accountability.

The next morning, I called Cassandra. “We need to talk about the will. Can you come to my house tomorrow afternoon?”

“I knew you’d come around,” she replied, smug. “I’ll be there at two.”

I prepared meticulously, arranging documents and setting up a recorder, ensuring Cassandra’s consent. At 2:00, she arrived, looking confident.

“I hope you don’t mind if we record,” I said. “It seems prudent given the legal nature of what we’re discussing.” She agreed, briefly.