Sarah clutched the steering wheel.

Her knuckles turned white against the faded plastic.

“Call the police this minute,” Sarah said.

“Tell them he forged the application.”

“The lawyer said the bank will just push it through unless I have the paper deed,” I said.

“David has the paper copy locked up in the garage.

If I go to the police empty-handed, he’ll shred it and say I invented the whole thing.”

I watched a thrown-away fast-food cup roll across the pavement.