My Father Tossed a Blue Savings Passbook into the Mud at Cedar Ridge

Arthur brought the paper very close to his face, squinting at the signature at the bottom.

He cleared his throat loudly again.

“This signature belongs to a dead notary, Gregory,” Arthur said softly, talking to the paper rather than to me.

“He actually tried to use Philip Henderson’s stamp.”

“Is it a fake?” I asked.

“Philip died four years before the date printed on this letter,” Arthur said.

“Your father is getting desperate.”

I took a deep breath.