Then my hand stopped on a transaction I didn’t remember.

A withdrawal from a secondary holding account.

Large. Irregular. Routed through an organization I didn’t recognize. The authorization carried a digital signature that looked like mine at first glance, but something about its rhythm was wrong.

I’d signed my name millions of times on contracts, checks, and freight documents during the early years of the business. A signature has its own anatomy.

This one copied my appearance, but not my hand.

I opened the matching bank statement on my computer.