“He signed his full name as a witness while you were upstairs loading your coat boxes into his trunk,” I said.

“He wanted to be sure you were legally free of the mortgage before he drove you over the county line.”

Her eyes moved down the page and stayed on the line of black ink that had faded to gray over ten years.

“He said he burned his copy in the furnace,” she said.

“He burned his copy,” I said.

“I filed mine at the county courthouse at eight the next morning.”

Vanessa took a slow step back from the table.