“He helps me with my business,” she had said.
At the time, I had been too tired to think much about him.
I had spent the morning at the bank verifying the cashier’s checks, then driven three hours to the closing with my parents.
All I had cared about was watching Dad sign the deed and seeing Mom cry when the keys were placed in her hand.
Caleb had shaken mine.
“You’ve done something wonderful for them,” he’d said.
Now his name sat beneath a forged authorization.
“Caleb Morris,” I repeated.
Jessica nodded faintly.
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“When did you last speak to him?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“About the house?”
She looked at the papers in my hand.
“About the loan.”
Susan moved toward the doorway.
“Jessica, perhaps we should call an attorney before—”
“Yes,” I said.
“We should.”
I took out my phone and photographed every page in the tin.
