“Not my signature,” I said.

“He didn’t need it.” David’s finger moved down the page.

“If the bank ever asked where the money went, the first address in the file would be ours.”

I opened my ledger and wrote the time of the drive-through printout beside the date.

“Seven forty-two,” I said.

David looked at the diner door.

A waitress carried a tray of sweet tea to the window booth.

“I ate breakfast with him that morning,” David said.