“There’s an electronic authorization.”

She turned the page.

Arthur’s digital signature appeared at the bottom.

He whispered, “I never signed that.”

I looked at him.

For one terrible second, every improvement we had made vanished beneath suspicion.

Then I noticed the date.

October 17.

I remembered October 17.

Arthur had been in Denver for a conference.

His laptop had been at home.

And Deborah had known his passwords.

He used the same four-digit PIN for almost everything.

The woman who claimed she had nowhere to go had used our household