“That’s the bank teller,” I said.

“The one who handled the nineteen thousand dollars.”

I took the thick petition from Marcus.

The pages were incredibly heavy in my hands.

I let my knees bend slowly and sank down onto the cold concrete floor, letting the fine gray dust coat the hem of my dark trousers.

I held the forged paper in both hands and read the sentence again.

The evidence room smelled of burnt coffee and paper dust.