It was a commercial rubber notary stamp, custom-made with the official seal of the State of Ohio, a notary commission number, and my own full legal name cut in raised block letters across the base.

A little black plastic ink pad sat open right beside it, stained with fresh ink.

I turned the rubber face up toward the window.

Fresh, wet purple ink coated the raised rubber letters, leaving a dark, sticky purple smear along the edge of my index finger.

I slipped the rubber stamp into my handbag next to the blue paper envelope and went out to my father’s truck before Trevor came back downstairs.

By one o’clock we were sitting in the conference room at Hayes and Associates on High Street.