She opened the document on the rolling tray.
I looked down.
The signature was my father’s.
I knew every curve.
Arthur Carter.
But I also knew something else.
My father had a habit.
Two taps before signing.
A strange ritual.
When I was little, I used to imitate it.
Tap.
Tap.
Sign.
The habit had followed me into adulthood.
“What date?” I asked.
Ruiz read it.
“March seventeenth, nine years ago.”
I looked at Liam.
His face changed immediately.
“That was impossible.”
Evelyn nodded.
“I know.”
Detective Ruiz looked between us.
“Why?”
Liam answered.
“Dad’s surgery was March sixteenth.”
My heart began pounding.
“He was in intensive care on the seventeenth.”
“Yes.”
“Could he sign?”
“No.”
Evelyn’s voice lowered.
“He was intubated.”
The signature on the page was perfect.
Too perfect.
I leaned closer.
The amendment transferred authorization authority.
It altered one sentence inside a corporate governance document.
