“The notary says something different in her written statement,” Evelyn said.

“She says she checked your driver’s license herself.”

“She’s lying.”

“She signed a sworn statement under penalty of perjury, Claire,” Evelyn said, removing her glasses and laying them on the yellow pad.

“Unless we have something that breaks her statement before nine o’clock Thursday morning, Judge Harrison will let the resale go ahead.”

I reached into my coat pocket and touched the corner of the yellowed 1984 abstract lying flat against my ribs.

“I need to talk to the assistant myself,” I said.