“I know. I counted.”
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.”
