He opened the leather folder to reveal two crisp white documents already stamped by a notary.

“It’s a simple legal formality,” Charles said, sliding the top document forward.

“You sign a short statement clarifying that Toby tripped over the rug runner in the dining room and fell against the corner of the table.”

I recognized the exact wording from the sealed envelope Lawrence Vance had left at the hospital desk thirty-six hours earlier, which held a pre-written false affidavit and a draft settlement agreement.

“You’re asking me to make a false statement under oath to state investigators,” I said, resting my right thumb lightly on the inside of my wrist to check my pulse.