“We need to take these,” I said, closing the metal box.

“What do you intend to do with them?” Voss asked.

“I am going to show them to her,” I said. “She needs to see exactly what he has done. She needs to see his handwriting next to the forged signatures.”

Voss stood up slowly, brushing the dust from his trousers. “Maren, be careful. Your mother has spent years defending Dorian. She may not welcome the truth.”

“She is my mother,” I said, locking the box and lifting it by the handle. “She has to listen to me.”

“I hope you are right,” Voss said.

He picked up his lantern and led the way back to the cabin door.

The cold mountain wind hit us as we stepped out onto the porch.

The headlights of my SUV glinted in the darkness.

I placed the metal box in the trunk, covering it with a heavy wool blanket.

“I will return to my office,” Voss said, turning his collar up against the wind. “If you need me to verify any of these documents for the authorities, I will have my files ready.”