“You signed my name on a note,” Caroline said.

Grant walked over to the table and stood over her shoulder.

“It was a formality, Caroline,” he said.

“We don’t have time to run back and forth across town for small signatures.”

“You told Arthur Vance I was the night cleaner,” she said.

Grant set his hot ceramic mug down with a hard click.

The bottom of the mug landed right in the center of her oak desk drawing, across the detailed joinery notes.

“You were wearing an apron and holding a mop,” Grant said.