She was looking at me and not at the papers.

I hit send.

The little bar filled, the message went, and the clock in the corner of the screen said twelve thirty-eight.

“Now,” Hale said.

“While it’s coming through.

Is there anywhere a person could study your signature?

Your name and a street address on the same page?”

I thought about twenty-seven years of joint returns, both our names on every line, and the copies I had left with my accountant in a box marked with the year.