I let the silence stretch before answering. “The house you sold had already been sold, Jonathan. Almost a month ago. To the Navarros, who closed legally, with my signature, in front of my lawyer.” Marjorie laughed too loudly. “Nonsense. Our buyer wired the deposit yesterday, and the papers are signed.” “Signed by whom?” I asked softly.

Jonathan’s face drained to gray. I put my phone on speaker and called Diane Foster, who answered on the first ring. “Claire, the county flagged a forged power of attorney this morning,” she said. “Your husband’s sale is void, and the title company has already frozen every dollar.” Marjorie’s arms dropped to her sides. Then a heavy knock shook the front door, and through the frosted glass I saw the unmistakable shapes of uniforms, and Jonathan whispered, “What did you do?”