“Does this signature mean I don’t have to go back to the Pine Street house tonight?” Ethan asked.

“You’re coming home with me today,” I said, reaching down to adjust my watch strap.

“I kept Grandfather’s old ledger entries in my school locker on Elm Avenue,” Ethan said quietly.

“The ones that show the original bank account numbers from before my father changed them.”

“Arthur has already checked those numbers against the court records,” I told him.

The heavy oak door to the clerk’s private suite clicked open, and two men in dark gray suits walked in without stopping at the reception desk.

The taller officer took a crisp white file out of his leather briefcase and looked straight at Arthur.