I got back to my apartment on Elm Street at seven thirty, where Paige was already waiting inside with two hot paper containers of noodle soup.

The kitchen table was covered in neat stacks of paper, two thick yellow legal envelopes, and a fresh roll of heavy packing tape.

Paige sat on a tall wooden stool, checking the itemized entries on her phone against my printed bank log.

“Arthur said the bank manager has full legal authority to freeze Seth’s private accounts the moment fraud is proven,” Paige said.

I sorted the evidence into two identical packets: the church audio transcript, the clinic audit clearance, the house lease with the forged signature, and the bank records showing Seth’s lone endorsement on the florist refund check.