“This is nonsense,” Julian said, though his eyes moved rapidly across the rows of numbers without stopping on any single line.

“Dad gave me password access to help him pay his medical bills.

He gave me verbal permission for every transfer.”

“The bank phone logs in folder two contradict that statement,” Melissa Grant said, her wire-rimmed glasses catching the afternoon sun.

“Your father explicitly reported unauthorized password changes on four separate occasions.”

Julian set the blue folder back down on the desk, his thumb scraping against the brass key lying beside it.

Uncle Raymond turned his back on Julian and walked over to stand beside me near the window.