The paper was manufactured in France in the late 1980s.

It was the exact weight and texture used by the Whitmore estate lawyers thirty years ago.

“You’re going to forge a trust amendment?” Alexander asked.

“An amendment that invalidates Julian’s authority if he enters a fraudulent marriage,” I said.

“My grandfather was obsessed with the family reputation,” Alexander said, a faint smile touching his lips. “He actually drafted something like that once, but it was never signed.”

“It will be signed now,” I said.

I cleared a space on the wooden workbench.

I lit a kerosene lantern to get better light.

I took out a sheet of the vintage cotton paper.

First, I needed to age the paper slightly to match thirty years of storage.

I found an old metal tin and brewed a strong cup of black tea using some dry leaves left in a jar on the shelf.

Using a soft rag, I lightly brushed the warm tea over the paper.

The fibers absorbed the tannin, turning a soft, ivory yellow.

I held it over the wood stove, letting the heat dry it rapidly.