Her Name Is Iris
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.