“Show your work, Nicholas,” Elaine said.
Judith Abbott stepped forward and took the clipboard from his hands.
“Mr. Keller,” she said, “I am Judith Abbott, trustee of the Ruth Hollis Family Trust.”
“I have eleven distribution requests with your wife’s name on them, and a statement showing $168,400 sent to an account she never opened.”
“I’d like to ask your notary a question.”
She turned.
“Mr. Dolan, have you ever met this woman before tonight?”
Greg Dolan’s mouth opened.
“No, ma’am.”
“Nick told me she had a shaky hand from the pregnancy.”
Somebody in the waiting nook gasped.
Elaine took a blank page from her handbag and held out her red pen.
“Anna,” she said gently.
“Sign your name, sweetheart, the way you always do.”
I took it and printed on the paper, steady, quick, unmistakable.
A. KELLER.
Detective Ostrowski held it up beside a printout of the eleven signatures.
Straight, upright, square.
Against loops and slants and long, lazy tails.
“Not even close,” she said.
“Mrs. Keller prints.”
“And Mr. Keller,” she added, “has a K that his mother spent two years trying to close.”
Nick’s eyes darted to Tara.
“You,” he said.
Tara lifted her chin.
She lifted the strap of her Louis Vuitton bag, and I saw a tiny black recorder clipped inside the lining.
“I’m done, Nick,” she said.
Her voice trembled but it didn’t break.
Ostrowski stepped around Nick and turned him by the shoulder.
“Nicholas Keller,” she said, “you are under arr*st for forg*ry, identity th*ft, and th*ft in the first degree.”
Metal clicked.
It was a small, ordinary sound, and the whole floor heard it.
Ostrowski slipped the Rolex off his wrist with a gloved hand and dropped it into a paper bag.
“Purchased March 14,” she said, “for $9,150, from an account funded by your wife’s inheritance.”
Nick stared at me.
He looked, for the first time, like a boy who’d been caught.
“Anna,” he said.
“Anna, please.”
I took one long breath.
“You’re almost done, Nick,” I said.
They led him toward the elevator.
Dr. Wallace came running from the other end of the floor, and Priya was already beside me, one hand on my back, easing me into the nearest chair.
Judith Abbott waited until the elevator doors had closed.
She took off her glasses and looked at me with an expression I couldn’t name.
“Mrs. Keller,” she said.
“Your grandmother left you more than money.”
“And your husband has never told you about that, either.”
