Clara found a forged receipt for forty thousand dollars

recognizing the clumsy imitation of my sister’s signature at the bottom of the page. Beside it was the raised circular seal of Arthur Vance, public notary.

“Can I get a copy of this?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

“It costs five dollars for a certified printout,” the clerk said, her fingers already reaching for the printer tray.

I pulled a five-dollar continue reading …