“You have to call the court clerk back right now,” she said.

Her voice climbed into a ragged sob that sounded nothing like her usual sharp scolding.

“They’re talking about a grand jury indictment for criminal fraud and forgery.”

I gave her no answer.

“Trevor’s lying down in my back bedroom in Dayton,” she wept.

“He can’t take a criminal trial, Valerie.

He’s a home contractor, not some hardened criminal.”

“He forged my legal signature on an application for a second mortgage of one hundred and eighty-five thousand dollars,” I said.