They were expensive, careful professionals.

They wouldn’t push through a forged signature.

Unless somebody slipped the page into the final stack after the lawyers had gone over it.

I put the papers back in the envelope and locked it in the bottom drawer.

I laid my palm flat on the cool mahogany of the desk.

Who had really stamped that quitclaim deed on March ninth?

At seven sharp the sun hit the concrete floor of the mansion’s garage.