My hands shook slightly on the steering wheel, but my chest felt lighter with every block I traveled.

Inside the station, the fluorescent lights hummed, casting a sterile glow over the gray linoleum floor.

Detective Miller was still at his desk, a paper cup of stale coffee in front of him.

I walked up to his desk and placed the green folder on the laminate surface.

“What’s this, Dr. Morgan?” he asked, looking up.

“The financial records,” I said. “This is the evidence of the forgery and the embezzled funds.”

He opened the folder, flipping through the bank statements and the signed loan documents.

“These signatures don’t match your late mother’s handwriting,” he noted, his index finger tracing the ink.

“They don’t,” I said. “My aunt forged them to secure the loans for Jason’s medical school.”

He nodded slowly, pulling a yellow notepad toward him and writing down the file numbers.

“This changes the charges,” Miller said. “With this level of fraud, she won’t be getting out on bail again so easily.”

“I want to press charges to the fullest extent of the law,” I said.