Nineteen Thousand Dollars, a Forged Signature, and a Flight to the Dominican Republic
The air in the interrogation room was dry and cold.
Derek sat up straight and smoothed the front of his wrinkled tropical shirt.
“You made your point,” Derek said.
“You won.”
I pulled out the metal chair across from him and sat down.
“Drop the fraud charges,” Derek said.
“Tell them I had permission to take the money for the trip.”
Rebecca stood by the wall and watched us.