My son-in-law had reached into a graveyard twice to build this thing: once for my wife’s signature, and once for her dead physician’s professional opinion that my mind was going.

“The metadata on the file,” Lorraine added, “shows it was authored last month.

On Shawn’s office computer.”

That was the moment the ground shifted under me, and it had nothing to do with the money.

They had not merely tried to steal my land.

They had been building a paper case that I was not fit to run my own life.

I need to explain why that was the part that frightened me, because to a younger person it might seem the lesser crime — a forged letter, next to a forged deed and a stolen loan.