I touched the edge of the page with one fingertip.
He had forged my name.
Not in a moment of desperation. Not with panic. This had taken coordination. Printing. Signing. Notarizing. Driving to the bank in daylight and looking a stranger in the eye while he explained that his mother was no longer entirely herself.
It is a strange thing, the way shock can make you more precise instead of less. I did not cry. I did not tremble. I felt almost painfully clear.
“You didn’t process any of it,” I said.
“No, ma’am.” Jason sat straighter, grateful perhaps for a question he could answer cleanly. “Something about it didn’t feel right. We’ve known you here a long time. I… I asked for verification. He became irritated. Left rather quickly after I said we’d need direct confirmation from you.”
I gave a small nod.
“Thank you.”
