Over nine months, Travis had moved more than twenty-one thousand dollars to his mother.

Some came straight from my salary. The rest came from a home-equity line of credit opened against my house.

My hands started to shake. “I never signed for a loan.”

Denise enlarged one of the documents. A signature sat at the bottom. It looked like mine — but I had never written it.

My father’s jaw went rigid. “Forgery?”

“Possibly,” Denise said.