“That’s what she gave me.

I want that on the record too.”

“We’re not writing a confession,” Arthur said.

“We’re writing a notary certificate that happens to be true.”

Victor read the page twice, moving his finger under the words.

“This says I stamped the deed in my office on the ninth, that Jonathan Prescott wasn’t in the room, and that Brenda Prescott told me he had signed it at home the night before.”

“Is it true?”