The signature was too perfect.

It was an exact replica of the signature I used on official medical forms.

Specifically, the forms from the Mercy Hospital maternity ward.

Eight years ago, when the twins were born, I had signed dozens of release forms while heavily medicated.

I remember Gavin holding the clipboard for me while I was in the recovery room.

He had kept those copies.

He had used a digital trace from those exact documents to paste my signature onto this five-year-old agreement.

I felt a cold surge of anger replace my fear.

I leaned over and whispered to Deborah.

“Look at the stroke weight on the ‘B’,” I whispered.

“And look at the date.”

“He forged this.”

“We need to call Dr. Aris,” I said.

Dr. Linda Aris was the forensic document examiner we had on standby.

Deborah’s eyes widened slightly.

“Are you sure?” Deborah asked.

“I am positive,” I said.

“He used the signature from my C-section authorization file.”

“He thought I wouldn’t remember.”

“We need to get the original document,” Deborah said.

She stood up and addressed the court.