“Call me the second you walk out of that courtroom,” David said.

“I will, I promise,” I said.

Once David was gone, I sat down at Grace’s little writing desk in the corner of the living room.

I opened the briefcase and set out every document in order: Keith’s technical report on the three pen strokes, the 1984 abstract with the right parcel code, the bank trace showing the forty-five-thousand-dollar draw and the notary assistant’s sworn statement.

Grace came in carrying a brass desk lamp and set it down right by my elbow.