The room was in complete disarray.

My textbooks had been swept off the desk onto the floor.

The mattress was pulled off the bed frame.

My winter clothes were scattered across the linoleum.

“Are you alright?” Arthur asked, stepping in behind me.

I nodded, though my hands were shaking.

“They didn’t take my laptop,” I said, pointing to the desk.

“They weren’t looking for electronics,” Arthur said.

He closed the damaged door as best he could, wedging a chair against the handle.

He walked over to the desk and cleared a space.

He pulled a magnifying glass and a portable scanner from his briefcase.

“Let me see the copy of the active will you brought,” he said.

I handed it to him.

He turned on my small halogen desk lamp, bathing the paper in a sharp yellow glare.

He bent over the document, his face inches from the signature line.

“Look here, Ava,” he said, pointing with a silver pen.

I leaned in close.

“The signature on this active will is too perfect,” he explained.

“What do you mean?” I asked.