I searched my phone for forensic accountants in the city.

The next morning, I called in sick to the clinic where I worked as a nurse.

I sat in the small, quiet waiting room of Marcus Vance, a certified forensic accountant.

The office smelled of stale coffee and old paper.

Mr. Vance was a small man with thick glasses and a sharp, observant demeanor.

He welcomed me into his office and pointed to a green leather chair.

“How can I help you, Mrs. Miller?” he asked.

I placed the copied documents on his desk.

“I think my husband forged my signature to take out a home equity loan,” I said.

He adjusted his glasses and looked at the papers, his brow furrowing.

“This is a very serious allegation,” he said.

“Look at the signature,” I said.

“It looks almost exactly like mine, but I did not sign this document.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes scanning the pages with practiced speed.

“I will need to examine this alongside several genuine signatures from the same period,” he said.

“And I will need access to your joint financial records, if you can provide them.”