He pulled out a thick yellow envelope sealed with red wax and handed me a digital signature pad.

“Sign on the line, please,” he said.

I took the stylus.

My hand shook so badly I could barely form the letters of my name.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the pad back.

He closed his briefcase, turned, and walked down the steps without another word.

I closed the door and locked it immediately, leaning my back against the wood.

My breath came in shallow, ragged gasps.

I tore open the wax seal on the envelope, the scent of old, dry paper filling my nose.

Inside were the original, unredacted birth records from twenty years ago.

I turned the pages quickly, my eyes searching for the names.

Under the line for ‘Mother,’ the name was indeed Rose Dawson.

But under ‘Father,’ there was only a blank space.

Attached to the back was a court adoption order signed by a judge who had died ten years ago.

The date on the signature was two weeks after the judge’s death.

It was a forgery.