I passed over the copy of the forged bank slip.

I skipped past the intake record with the missing contact names.

I turned to the last page in the pile.

I sat in the cold car, listening to the rain drum on the metal roof, staring at the signed waiver with Richard’s bold signature across the bottom.

Just before nine in the morning, I parked outside Claire Dupont’s family law office.

The brick building stood at the end of a quiet business street in downtown Oak Creek.