Rain tapped on the narrow window, but the air inside smelled of warm paper, carpet cleaner, and old coffee.

I laid the printed First National Bank statements on his oak desk, carefully lining up their left edges with the wood grain.

Next to them, I placed the four-page house lease with Seth’s forged signature and the small black digital recorder Paige had carried in her purse at St.

Mark Church.

“He told the bank teller I approved every single withdrawal,” I said.

Arthur picked up the bank sheets, his thumb tracing the blue stamp at the bottom of the transfer authorization.