“He never could do anything on his own,” I said.

The words sat on the table between us.

Rebecca didn’t smile, but she didn’t correct me either.

We worked for three hours.

Every forged document got a number in red ink.

Every discrepancy went into her spiral notebook, a fresh page for each person.

By the time Marcus brought in the bank records, we had twenty-six numbered items and a timeline that ran from late September to that Tuesday afternoon.

“He cleaned out the account in two withdrawals,” Marcus said, sliding the statement across.