“It would name Garrett acting president until your health settles down,” Frank said, turning the binder so I could read the draft agenda.

“It keeps the twelve-million-dollar contract safe from any challenge by the bank.”

“Was it Garrett who asked you to bring me this?” I asked.

“He brought it up after your spell at the restaurant,” Frank said.

“He’s trying to protect the firm, Raymond.

And he’s trying to protect you.”

I stared at Garrett’s name printed on the agenda under the title Acting Executive President.

The forged initials on form forty-two and the IP address on Turtle Creek Boulevard sat in my mind like iron bars.