“On November third, you used your desk signature stamp to forge my name on an insurance waiver,” I went on, sliding the second document next to the first.

“Chloe verified the stamp’s registration number, proving the black indelible ink came straight from the wooden stamp in your top desk drawer.”

“That form let you cancel my maternity coverage three days before my thirty-eighth week,” I said, my voice steady and measured as I met his eyes.

“Those are internal foundation records,” Julian said, his voice flat and warning.

“You stole administrative property from my private study.”