At ten thirty, Rachel took a second blue file out of her desk drawer and laid a single sheet of heavy bond paper flat on her blotter.

“First National Bank delivered this this morning under a separate subpoena,” Rachel said.

“He didn’t just take joint cash, Claire,” Rachel said, her clipped voice dropping into a grave, flat tone.

“He signed your name to a fifteen-thousand-dollar debt.”

I leaned over the desk and stared at the heading.

It was an application for an unsecured personal line of credit, dated November fourteenth of last year.

My full legal name was typed on the primary borrower line, along with my Social Security number, my retail income details, and our home address in Oakridge.