The prosecutors did not open with the assault.

They opened with the numbers.

Year by year, check by check, wire by wire, they mapped the theft.

A transfer labeled trust property maintenance that had paid the down payment on a Manhattan condo.

A withdrawal for emergency medical reserves that matched, to the day, my father’s purchase of a vintage Porsche.

Then the signatures, my grandparents’ genuine hands projected on massive screens beside the forgeries, the analysts pointing out the hesitant pressure, the traced lines.

And then the grand total: over twelve million dollars, embezzled and diverted over fifteen years.