my throat.
Three years earlier, after Dad died, Vanessa had been present when Mom mentioned the trust.
She joked, “Guess David won the lottery.”
I remembered Mom’s expression.
She had not laughed.
Ramirez asked, “Did your wife have financial problems?”
“Her boutique struggled.”
“How badly?”
“I thought it was improving.”
He studied me.
“Mr. Cole, people who steal from family don’t always do it because they’re broke.”
“What does that mean?”
“Sometimes money is just evidence of another problem.”
Vanessa came home at 8:17 that evening.
She entered carrying no purse.
No phone.
No keys.
Her makeup was streaked from crying.
When she saw the detectives, she stopped.
“You called them.”
I stood in the living room.
“You forged my mother’s signature.”
Her face crumpled.
“I didn’t.”
“Forty-seven thousand dollars.”
“I took the money.”
“You just admitted it.”
“I know.”
She looked toward the detectives.
“But I did not
