Derek came up out of his chair, flipped his plate, and slammed both fists on the table hard enough to rattle the crystal. “You were never here, Iris!”

I didn’t move. I waited until the glasses stopped ringing.

“I’m here now.”

He stood breathing hard, looking around a table he didn’t own, in a dining room he didn’t own, and understood that the audience had turned.

I pulled out the last of it — the printed bank statements, the branch stamp catching the candlelight.

“Social Security lands on the second,” I said, tapping the highlighted lines. “Six hundred in cash comes out on the third. Fourteen months running. Plus thirty-nine hundred charged to a store card with a forged signature.