The False Release Reached My Bench Before The Scheduled Pickup

I knew the signature because I had written it.

I had signed the bottom of my estimate. Someone had lifted its image and placed it under words I had never seen.

The new document said I accepted responsibility for damage, returned all records, and confirmed that no radiographs existed.

It also promised me $20,000.

The email called the attachment our agreed settlement.

I sat with both feet on the floor until I could read it again.

Then I called Leona.

"Don't answer it," she said. "Save the email in its original form. Send it to me and the investigator."

"It came from his office."

"We'll record that. We won't guess who touched the keyboard."

She sent a short reply saying I had made no agreement and the signature had been used without my consent. She asked them to preserve the file and related messages.

There was no angry paragraph. No threat in return.

I read her six sentences three times.

Then I printed her reply and put it beside the false release. If someone read the folder later, they would see exactly when I had refused and what I had refused to say.

Hector came that afternoon with another agent to collect a copy from my computer and document how it had arrived. He asked questions about the estimate and took the clean original from my folder under a new receipt.

"Is this enough to stop Monday?" I asked.

"Your lawyer can ask about the civil order. For our case, it's another thing we have to trace."

"Everything is another thing."

"I know."

He said it without trying to fix how I felt.

That helped more than I expected.

After the other agent stepped outside, Hector noticed my lunch on the bench. One untouched apple. Cold tea. A sleeve of plain crackers.

"Excellent selection," he said. "All three food groups of being worried."

I laughed once, hard enough to surprise us both.

He looked almost shy.

"I waited several visits before risking that," he said.

"A sound investigation."

He smiled, then checked his watch and returned to work.

On Saturday, my aunt helped me pack the six mounts. We used acid-free tissue around loose edges and padded each antler so it could not strike the crate.

I had already secured their damaged eyes. Most of the other repairs remained undone.

"You're being very careful with his things," she said.

"They're evidence of how I do my job."

"They're also things you don't want hurt."

She knew me too well.

My deposit ledger showed $1,740 in completed work and packing costs. That left $4,460 of Vaughn's deposit unused. Leona told me to keep it apart until the fee dispute was resolved.

I wanted to spend it on her bill.

I kept it apart.

A fire inspector came at my request before Monday. I showed him the warning in my daybook and the police report number.

He checked exits, extinguishers, and the space around my work lamps. I paid $85 for a worn cord to be replaced by an electrician. The inspection found no basis to close my shop.

I sent the report to my insurer and kept a copy in the front drawer.

Vaughn had used my building's age to frighten me. Now its condition had a date and a name beside it.

On Sunday evening, a woman waited outside while I locked up.

"I'm June Voss," she said. "I do Redd's books."

She held a grocery bag against her coat. Her hands shook worse than mine had.

"I can't discuss his case," I said.

"I don't want you to. I need the man who took the goat."

I gave her Hector's office number and offered to call while she waited. She nodded.

We stayed near the open doorway where the street camera could see us. I did not take her bag or ask what was inside.

"Did you sign that release?" she asked.

"No."

Her eyes closed.

"He told me you'd agreed. He told me to put it in the outgoing folder."

"Tell Hector exactly that."

"I should have asked more questions months ago."

"You can ask them now."

Hector arranged to meet her elsewhere. She left before he arrived, following the directions his office gave her.

He called me after nine.

"The transfer is still set for two," he said. "Keep to the order. If anything changes, we'll tell you. You can have someone else stand in for you."

"It's my shop. Leona will be there."

"You don't owe us a performance, Willa."

"I know. I owe six accurate receipts."

On Monday, at one forty-three, a long enclosed truck stopped outside.

Vaughn stepped down from its passenger seat carrying a red document case.