“The signature on the corporate transfer wasn’t mine.”

“It was a bad copy.”

“You used the notary stamp from my office while I was still under anesthesia.”

Nolan’s face drained of what little color it had left.

The skin around his mouth turned a dull, grayish white.

“That’s a lie,” he whispered, though his voice lacked any real force.

“You signed it, Evelyn.”

“You told me you wanted me to handle the Hartwell accounts so you could focus on Maisie.”

“You said you were too tired to think.”

He was using the same tone he had used in our kitchen for the last year.

The soft, reasonable voice that made me question my own memory.

The voice that made me look at calendar entries and wonder if I had truly forgotten our appointments.

“I have the hospital log, Nolan,” I said.

“And I have the digital trail from your laptop.”

The lead marshal stepped between us, cutting off Nolan’s view of me.

“Nolan Pierce, you are under arrest for bank fraud, identity theft, and conspiracy to commit grand larceny,” the marshal read from the paper in his folder.