Caldwell handed your department two days ago was a forgery.”

The senior officer opened his folder, looked over the red township seal stamped at the bottom of the title page, and turned toward the golf cart.

“Is that your signature on this municipal affidavit, Mr.

Caldwell?” the officer asked.

Harry didn’t say a single word.

He sat frozen stiff on the leather seat of his golf cart, his mouth hanging a little open, staring at the blue folder in the officer’s hand.

The second officer stepped past Trent, leaned into the golf cart, and picked the forged boundary maps up off the passenger seat.