Vivian’s folder trembled in her hands. The door opened, and two men walked in: one in a suit carrying a briefcase, the other in a plain jacket with a badge clipped to his belt. The detective introduced himself quietly and said he was there about a document submitted to Oakridge on Saturday, a letter of authorization bearing the signature of a man who had been dead for three months when it was allegedly signed. Vivian’s face went the color of the office walls. “That’s absurd,” she said. “My father signed that before he passed.”

Mr. Whitcombe slid the letter across the table. “Ma’am, your father passed in September. This letter is dated December fourth. That is not a clerical error. That is a signature on a document created after his death.” The detective opened a small notebook. Vivian looked from the letter to me, to the green folder, to the 2015 form still facing her on the table, its second paragraph waiting. “Read paragraph two,” Mr. Whitcombe said gently. Her hands shook so badly she could barely lift the page.