But someone else, someone quieter, had been draining the deep foundations of my father’s entire fortune for a very long time, so slowly and so expertly that the theft had been invisible even to a trained eye until that eye knew where to look.

And the more I traced the architecture, the more one cold question rose up in me and would not sit back down.

Where had Nathan gotten the forged trust papers in the first place?

He didn’t have the skill to make them.

Someone had handed them to him.

Someone was using my grasping, obvious husband as a distraction — a loud, clumsy thief in the front room, so that no one would hear the careful one working in the vault.

Chapter 7 — The Trustee