I opened the paper and looked at the signature line on the second page.

My full name was stamped in dark blue ink, but the baseline of the letters was perfectly level and identical to the ink impression on Julian’s office routing slips.

“Did Julian process this document at his desk?” I asked.

“He finished all the board filings on Tuesday evening,” Eleanor said, dipping her silver spoon into her soup.

“It saves you the trouble of signing form after form while you’re resting.”

I folded the paper again and slid it into my cardigan pocket.