Roger looked toward the window of his apartment. Rain tapped lightly against the glass.
"Second?"
"Different date. Related transaction."
"Does it have my name?"
"Yes."
"Signature?"
"Yes."
Roger closed his eyes.
"Do I remember signing it?"
Natalie's voice remained neutral. "I can't answer that."
Roger almost smiled despite himself. "No, you can't."
She sent the document. Roger opened it. The signature looked like his again.
He checked the date. This time he knew immediately where he had been.
Chicago.
Three-day professional conference.
Roger pulled up his old calendar. Hotel reservation. Conference registration. Flight receipt.
He placed them beside the notarized page. The document indicated an in-person notarization in Franklin County, Ohio.
Roger stared at those words. Then at his United Airlines boarding pass from Columbus to Chicago that same morning.
He called Amanda. She answered on the first ring.
"Another one?" she asked.
"Natalie sent it."
"I've seen it."
"I was in Chicago."
"I know."
Roger looked at the signature again. For weeks, the case had been about numbers. Now the numbers had signatures, and the signatures had locations.
Amanda's voice became measured. "Roger, this changes what we need to verify."
"How?"
"We're going to obtain the notary records and the underlying lender file."
Roger looked at his own name written beneath a seal he had no memory of seeing. Amanda continued.
"And until we know exactly what happened, you do not accuse anyone of forging anything."
Roger's answer was immediate. "I won't."
But when the call ended, he did something he had not done before. He placed his driver's license beside the document. Then he signed his name on a blank sheet of paper.
Roger Michael Barry.
He compared the two signatures. They were close. Very close.
Close enough that someone had either watched him sign his name many times, or the signature had not been created in the way the document claimed.
Roger stopped comparing the signatures after 10 minutes. There was nothing more he could learn by staring at them.
One appeared on a document dated while he was in Indianapolis. The other appeared on a document claiming an in-person notarization in Franklin County while Roger was in Chicago.
Those were facts. Everything beyond them required verification.
The next morning, Amanda had already begun that process. She requested the underlying lender file, electronic execution records, transaction history, available verification logs, and records associated with the notarizations.
Roger supplied his own documentation. Chicago hotel receipt. Airline confirmation. Conference registration.
Credit card charge from a restaurant on West Adams Street.
For Indianapolis, he had even more. Company mileage report. Hotel folio.
Inspection schedule. Email exchanges sent from the job site.
Roger forwarded everything to Amanda. Then he went to work.
For 12 days, nothing happened.
That was the part nobody talked about. Evidence did not produce instant justice. Documents moved through departments.
Requests were processed. Attorneys waited. Banks reviewed. People returned calls two days late.
Roger still had inspections. He still bought groceries. He still washed his clothes in the apartment laundry room.
He still woke some mornings forgetting for three seconds that he no longer lived on Ashborne Drive. Then memory returned.
Kimberly. Jason. The stairs. The money.
On the 13th day, Amanda called.
"The lender has escalated the file."