But I’ve testified in three insurance disputes. I know what happens to evidence when the wrong person moves it.
I didn’t touch it. I photographed it.
Then I opened the top folder and stopped breathing.
It was an appraisal report on my letterhead. My logo, my license number, my signature at the bottom. A Spanish silver monstrance, the ornate stand churches use to display the Eucharist, valued at $1,200.
I had never seen that monstrance in my life.
There were three reports like that. One was dated March 14 of last year. On March 14, I was at St. David’s Medical Center, recovering from knee surgery and very much on morphine.
Every real report I write carries a six-digit verification code in the bottom corner, cross-listed in my database. None of these had one. And on the “released to” line of each consignment form, in blue ink, was a name I knew better than my own.
