Harmon said:
“Go home and find every document with your father's signature.”
“Checks.”
“Tax papers.”
“Letters.”
“Anything.”
“We build the truth from pieces.”
Adrian paid nothing that morning.
Harmon refused even when Adrian insisted.
“Bring me evidence first.”
At home, Adrian opened boxes he had been avoiding.
His father's desk.
Bank statements.
Tax files.
Old birthday cards.
Christmas checks.
Receipts.
He spread years of handwriting across the kitchen floor.
Ivy arrived with pizza after closing the flower shop.
She sat beside him.
They compared signatures.
At first Adrian saw nothing.
Then Ivy pointed.
“Look at the capital C.”
His father always looped it backward slightly.
The loan signature did not.
Then the final stroke of Cole.
His father's rose.
The loan version dropped.
Once Adrian saw it, he could not stop seeing it.
“This isn't his handwriting.”
Ivy said nothing.
Adrian stared at the page.
“Somebody did this.”
“Yes.”
“Somebody put my father's name on a loan.”
“Yes.”
He felt anger for the first time.
Real anger.
Not fear disguised as anger.
“My dad had heart surgery two years before this.”
“I remember.”
“If he found out somebody took fifty thousand dollars against his house…”
Ivy remained silent.
Adrian stopped.
He had no evidence the fraud caused his father's death.
He knew that.
But grief rarely respected standards of proof.
Ivy placed one hand on the floor beside his.
Not touching.
Close.
Adrian looked down.
Then covered her hand with his.
Neither spoke.
After a minute, he let go.
“We take this to Harmon.”
“First thing.”
Harmon examined the signatures the next morning.
Then the notary stamp.
That interested him more.
“Randall Pope.”
He searched a state record.
Then whistled.
“Pope lost his notary commission in 2016.”
Adrian stared.
“This document says 2019.”
“Exactly.”
Harmon began moving quickly.
Handwriting expert.
Emergency motion to stay foreclosure.
Complaint to the state attorney general.
Subpoenas.
Property records.
For the first time since returning home, Adrian had tasks.
Tasks were good.
Tasks had beginnings and endings.
That afternoon Ivy watched Noah while Adrian visited the county recorder.
When he returned, the kitchen table was covered with crayons.
Noah had drawn the house.
Three figures stood on the porch.
One small.
One tall.
One woman with dark hair.
Adrian noticed.
Said nothing.
Three days later, the court granted a temporary stay.
Ninety days.
Harmon called Adrian before lunch.
Adrian drove directly to Lane's Flower Shop.
Ivy stood arranging peonies.
“They granted it.”
She stopped.
“How long?”