“I didn’t steal anything,” Vance said, his voice rising. “Dorian brought me the deeds. They were signed. They were notarized.”

“By whom?” Voss asked, leaning forward. “Because we have the original trust documents right here. The ones that prove Maren is the sole trustee.”

Voss tapped the folder he had brought in.

Vance looked at the legal papers, then at the soot on his own hands.

The reality of his situation seemed to finally break through his panicked defenses.

He slumped back in his chair, the metal cuffs clinking against the table.

“He told me it was clean,” Vance whispered. “He said the trust was set up with a loophole for the spouse.”

“My father didn’t leave loopholes,” I said.

“Dorian was desperate,” Vance said, shaking his head. “He’s in deep with some developers out of Dallas. He took an advance on the north pasture sale, and they were threatening to sue him if he didn’t deliver the title by the end of the month.”

“So he forged my father’s signature,” I said.

Vance looked down at the table. “He didn’t forge your father’s signature.”