I lifted out his black leather farm ledger and turned to the entries from nineteen ninety-eight, where he had logged pasture fence repairs in black fountain pen ink.

I laid the forged option contract next to my grandfather’s real handwriting under the bright yellow bulb.

The capital T in Thomas on the option paper was drawn with a sweeping loop across the top bar.

In my grandfather’s real handwriting, every capital T was short and blunt, ending in a small square dot where his pen rested on the line.

My hand rested on my right knee as I stared at the two pages.