“You forged my name,” he said, his voice right on the other side of the wood now.

“Jake did it, didn’t he?”

“Jake is a businessman,” I said. “He knows how to get things done.”

“I’m calling the police,” Carl said.

“Go ahead,” I replied. “Tell them your wife locked you out of your bank account. See how fast they rush over to a domestic dispute over a joint asset.”

I walked back to the kitchen, feeling lighter than I had in months.

The front door of the apartment clicked open.

I turned around to see Derek standing in the entryway.

He was wearing his heavy canvas work jacket, his boots wet from the Brooklyn drizzle.

His face was pale, and his eyes were wide and nervous.

“Where’s Jake?” Derek asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“He’s at the office,” I said, pouring myself a fresh glass of water. “Why?”

Derek looked past me toward the basement door.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“I heard Carl shouting from the sidewalk,” Derek said. “What did you do, Mom?”