He didn’t arrest Trevor at my gate. Trevor, to his credit or his cowardice, had already driven away. But by evening there was a warrant, and by nine o’clock Howard was sitting in my kitchen with a thermos of coffee and a very old, very tired look.
“I need to talk to you about the trust,” he said. “The one Kristen emailed.”
“It can’t be real. She wasn’t in our lives.”
“It isn’t.” He laid two documents side by side. “This is the real Raymond Sutter Trust, which I drafted and which sits in my safe. Trustee: my firm. Beneficiary: Trevor, subject to the conditions Raymond added.” He tapped the second. “This is the copy Kristen sent. Same text, same signature page. Except that someone lifted your signature and Raymond’s from the original, and placed a third line under them.”
“Forged.”
“Cleanly, but yes. A professional would spot it in ten minutes. The paper stock is wrong, the notary stamp is from a commission that expired in 2019, and the date was altered.” He took off his glasses. “Gloria, I don’t think she was trying to fool a court. I think she was trying to fool you, tonight, long enough to frighten you into talking.”
