I used a very fine steel stylus to apply it, pressing hard enough to leave an indentation on the back of the page.

A real notary’s signature always left a physical groove in the paper.

I ran my finger over the reverse side of the page.

The raised ridge was perfect.

I added the notary stamp, using a carved piece of soft pine wood and red pigment from my kit.

I pressed it firmly onto the page.

The result was a perfectly aged, official-looking document.

To any expert, it would look like it had sat in a steel vault for three decades.

“It’s perfect,” Alexander whispered, looking over my shoulder.

“It’s a lie,” I said. “But it’s a lie that tells the truth.”

“What do we do with it?” he asked. “If we take it to the police, Julian will use his political connections to destroy it.”

“We don’t take it to the police,” I said. “We use it as bait.”

“Julian will do anything to keep this from the board,” Alexander said. “He’ll kill us to get it.”

“Exactly,” I said. “We make him come to us.”