“Was that him?” Elena asked, her pen hovering over her notepad.

“Yes,” I said. “He’s out on bail.”

“He shouldn’t be contacting you directly,” she said, her brow furrowing. “It’s a violation of his release terms.”

“He wants to trade,” I said, walking back to the papers. “He claims he has Patricia’s personal ledger.”

Elena let out a short, dry laugh.

“Of course he does,” she said. “He’s drowning, and he knows his mother won’t pull him out.”

She turned her attention back to the thick manila folder on the desk.

“Let’s look at the timeline of this forgery,” she said, flipping a page.

The paper made a sharp, scraping sound in the silent room.

I leaned over her shoulder, my eyes scanning the dense rows of numbers.

The loan had been approved six months ago.

That was right around the time Harrison had asked me to sign a stack of standard corporate tax renewals.

I remembered sitting at the dining table in our old house, the smell of his expensive cologne in the air.

He had handed me his tablet, asking for my digital thumbprint to speed up the filing.