That’s Clara Sterling.”

I stared at the screen, unable to move my hands from my lap.

Clara had walked into my home, opened my bedroom closet, taken my coat and scarf, and worn them into my bank to steal eighty-five thousand dollars from my six-year-old stepson’s trust fund.

“She forged your signature while dressed as you,” Mr.

Reed said, his formal bank tone giving way to quiet disgust.

“She used your identity to strip the boy’s account clean.”