He looked down at the release form on the table, at the signature he had made ten minutes earlier under Oakmont Holdings.

The auditors blocked the doorway.

Richard stared at his own forged handwriting and said nothing.

One month later, the clock in the courthouse waiting room ran four minutes fast, and Ethan kept checking it against the phone in his lap, then against the clock again.

The baby slept in the car seat by his feet, a green pacifier tucked under a yellow receiving blanket that still had the hospital’s laundry mark in one corner.

“They call us at nine fifteen,” Ethan said.