Nineteen Thousand Dollars, a Forged Signature, and a Flight to the Dominican Republic

“Don’t fold them.”

I set the folders carefully back on the stack of tax returns.

I didn’t close the lid.

We moved into the living room.

The evening sun threw long shadows across the carpet where the paramedics had treated Lily hours before.

The sour smell of old milk still clung to the sofa.

Marcus pulled a clear plastic bag from the cargo pocket of his uniform and laid it flat on the glass coffee table.

“Show me exactly what you found,” Marcus said.