“It was a pre-approval process, Your Honor,” Trevor said, his voice rising in pitch. “We anticipated the court would find in our favor.”

“You did more than anticipate, Mr. Pike,” Judge Whitaker said. “You submitted a deed of trust that bears a signature purporting to be that of Meredith Lane.”

I took a slow, deep breath, feeling the cool mountain air that drifted in from the drafty windows.

The signature on that deed was a crude forgery.

I had known it the moment my lawyer found the paperwork.

Now, the judge knew it too.

“I have compared the signature on this deed with the signature on Ms. Lane’s driver’s license and her tax returns,” the judge said.

He leaned back in his leather chair.

“They do not match.”

Kelsey sat next to Trevor, her face completely drained of color.

She looked at her husband as if she were seeing him for the first time.

“Your Honor, if we could request a brief recess to consult with our client,” Trevor’s attorney said.

“Request denied,” Judge Whitaker said.

He picked up his gavel and held it a few inches above the wooden block.