It was too precise, too practiced.

I looked at the date of the notary stamp next to the signatures.

It was notarized by a woman named Janice Miller.

Janice Miller was a close friend of my mother-in-law, Linda.

“What is this, Ethan?” I whispered, my voice trembling.

He stood in the doorway, his face completely devoid of color, staring at the screen.

Ethan’s throat clicked as he swallowed.

He took a step backward, his shoulder bumping hard against the white doorframe.

“Sophia, let me explain,” he whispered.

“Explain this,” I said, pointing a trembling finger at the glowing laptop screen.

“That is my name. I did not sign that document.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” he said.

“It is exactly what it looks like. It is forgery.”

I scrolled further down the PDF document.

The document details showed the funds had already been disbursed to a third-party account.

The destination account was not our joint checking.

It was an empty account ending in 4092.

“Whose account is that, Ethan?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

“Is that Ryan’s account?” I demanded.

He looked down at the hardwood floor.